


Honor Among Thieves

by Lovedmoviesb, msdoomandgloom



Series: Love in the Time of Richonne: A Collection of Historical AUs [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Richonne - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 15:47:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19444570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovedmoviesb/pseuds/Lovedmoviesb, https://archiveofourown.org/users/msdoomandgloom/pseuds/msdoomandgloom
Summary: She's the scourge of the seas; he's in Her Majesty's Navy. When worlds collide, Rick and Michonne are changed forever. When duty comes before matters of the heart, two lovers find themselves at odds. Is a pirate ship any place for romance? A Richonne Anniversary collaboration with artist Msdoomandgloom





	1. The Revenge and Her Captain

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Happy Richonne Anniversary! It's been years since our ship set sail. To celebrate, msdoomandgloom and I have collaborated to bring you a swashbuckling adventure, complete with gorgeous art to go with it.
> 
> Part 1 can be found here already. Stay tuned for Parts 2 and 3. See the msdoomandgloom's gorgeous art up close on Tumblr mdgart.
> 
> Thank's for being the best fandom across the seven seas.
> 
> Enjoy and feel free to review!

Dread crested over the crew of the Victory as it bobbed atop the uneven waves of the sea. The sailors had been called to deck unceremoniously as the moon began to rise, the shrill echo of the whistle startling the crew from their leisure time. They gathered in tight clusters on the slick wooden floor in various stages of undress. Any other time, reprimands would have been in abundant supply. However, the sight on the horizon held the Naval Officers' attention far more than untucked waistcoats. Dark clouds danced in front of the full moon, throwing eerie shadows across the sea. Even in the low light of the oncoming night, the view was unmistakable.

Pirates.

It was no secret what a black sail meant in these warm waters. High above the mast, the approaching ship flew its colors boldly. It was too far off yet to distinguish which buccaneers were closing in on them, but it hardly mattered. Brigands were brigands, and this crew was too green to have had much experience in defeating them.

"They're still gaining," a watchman called down from the crow's nest, panic poorly veiled in his tone.

A shudder ran through them all. Rick was no exception. He had no taste for military life, no affinity for following orders. It mattered little. The third son of a third son had to make his way somehow in life, and it was the holy orders or the Queen's Navy. The open sea appealed to him more than priesthood, so here he was: shivering on the deck of this cursed ship in a starchy uniform that never quite seemed to fit correctly.

"Ready yourselves, men," one of his commanding officers found his voice at last. "If it's a fight they're after, it's a fight they will get."

His speech did not have the bolstering effect that Rick suspected the officer was aiming for, but the crew began to mobilize nonetheless. Scabbards were passed out and gunpowder dolled to the higher ups. A few scrambled to man the cannons, while more still found some excuse to scurry up into the sails, claiming they would surprise any potential invaders.

Rick, fool that he was, was shoved to the front along the bow. Clutching his sword, he cursed himself under his breath. If he had any sense he'd take one of the lifeboats and make a run for it. He had no vested interest in the Victory's mission. Their orders were to canvas the Caribbean and protect the Crown's investments as they escorted some high-ranking dandy back to his home in Nassau. Rick cared for this mandate less than he cared for the man himself.

"This is what we trained for," another sailor, perhaps sensing their impending doom, gallantly attempted to raise their spirits. Rick spared him not a glance. His eyes were trained on the flag of the ship rapidly gaining on them.

"By God's heart," he muttered.

His distress quickly rippled through the ranks as others began to see what Rick had spotted. The pattern was unmistakable, stark white against a field of ebon. The skull glowed in the low light of the moon, crowned in a bandana and underlined by a single sword. On the right most side of the field a bird, crimson as blood was affixed.

"It's the Revenge," someone proclaimed in a panic. The rest were quick to take up the cry. Rick

felt his own blood run cold.

"Steady men!" An officer yelled over them. Rick noticed that the officer had gone quite pale despite his bravado. High ranking and low, together they all stood, shaking in their boots as the Revenge descended upon them.

They would need a miracle to survive this.

One of the lads manning the cannons nerves failed him. He lit his powder when the Revenge was far out of range, sending a missile soaring. The blast rocked the whole of the Victory before whistling out over the ocean. It tore through a cluster of waves before landing harmlessly just beyond the Revenge's stern.

A silence spread over them all, cold and dark as the sea. For a moment, time froze. Then, somewhere aboard the pirate ship, a cry went up. For a moment, it almost seemed joyful, a song of celebration from some far-flung land. The music took a decidedly more sinister turn as the torches were lit. The flames illuminated the Revenge as it careened towards them, looking for all the world like a ship straight from the bowels of hell.

The cannons began again, booming one after the other as the boys aboard lost their nerve. Their commanding officers were screaming orders that could not be heard. Gunpowder clouded the air, adding to the confusion.

All the while the Revenge moved forward unscathed, its strange song cresting over all other sound. Rick thought he could detect voices singing in some language other than English, the battle-cry of another place. When the Revenge got near enough, he knew he was right. From her decks two dozen warriors were standing, all singing their strange song.

The men panicked at once, scattering as the Revenge unleashed its own hell on the Victory. Smoke clouded as a cannonball struck true to its mark, sending the Victory careening into the rough ocean. A second followed in quick succession and then a third, shattering the mast and the sails, rendering the pride of the Royal Navy useless. Rick ducked, listening to the sound of the massive guns, inhaling the smoke, shielding his face from the spray of shrapnel that now rained down on their decks. The sailors were screaming, panicking, the bodies dropping from the sails. Whether they were alive or dead hardly seemed to matter at this point. Rick suspected they'd all be dead soon.

A hush fell over it all suddenly. Even the pirates' terrifying hymn ended. Their crew turned at once towards a figure. Tall and dark, the captain of the Revenge drew every eye. Rick could see immediately what had inspired the terrible visage of her flag. The captain carried a sword to match, and a blood red bandana adorned long, twisted locs of hair. A tri cornered hat completed the picture. It had clearly seen battles a plenty, the battered leather shaped to the captain's head like a glove to a hand. The cruel, curved sword was pointed at the deck of the Victory. The pirates stood quite still, humming lowly.

"Phillip Blake!" the name rang out from the dreaded pirate ship. "Show yourself!"

The voice surprised Rick, even through his fear. It sounded as though it belonged to a lad. For one absurd moment, Rick wondered if the captain of the Revenge was naught more than a child. One of the torches threw light upon the commanding figure. It was only for a second or so, but Rick could not deny the truth in what he had seen.

The captain of the Revenge was a woman.

"Phillip Blake!" she called again, her anger palpable. Her accent was foreign to Rick's ears.

Her skin was ebon as the wood of the Revenge's hull, her eyes wide and dark and murderous. Rick had seldom seen features like these in England, but he found them at once terrifying and beautiful. She stood proud and fierce, a harbinger of death.

The crew of the Victory all turned as the door to the Captain's quarters was thrown open. Rick blinked in surprise at the man that strode out. Blake had not been seen in weeks, not by the crew since he boarded. The Governor of Nassau port was well-known for his genteel manner in the respectable places of London. Those in the Caribbean knew differently. Phillip Blake was a monster in men's clothing, the scourge of the seas. His treatment of the native people of his island, of the slaves brought in shackles to its shores had reached even Rick's ears.

"Michonne," Blake smiled pleasantly, all propriety. He was tall, broad, and pale, his dark hair swept back into a tidy low knot, even at this late hour. His uniform was a muted navy blue beneath the pale night sky. "It has been quite a long time since we last crossed paths," he intoned.

"Too long," the captain of the Revenge answered.

"I should think you would have little desire to see me again, after our last little skirmish," Blake was smiling, his eyes gleaming with the memory of something no doubt cruel. "Imagine my surprise to hear of the negress pirate captain terrorizing these waters. And to think it's all been for me. You flatter me."

This time it was the captain who smiled. "And here you are at last," she proclaimed. "Are you ready to face judgement?"

"I would face my Creator with not an ounce of shame," Blake retorted. "However, I would sooner not face my Queen after allowing you to take her favorite ship."

"Surrender now," the captain demanded. "Or see her and everyone aboard to Davy Jones' locker."

Blake tsked, even as the men aboard the Victory trembled. "You would kill innocent men?" he questioned. "Michonne, you disappoint me. Where are those principles you claim to cling too?"

"Slavers and colonizers are the only thing that can be found aboard a ship like this," the captain retorted, "and not an innocent man among you." She brandished her blade. Rick's eyes followed its gleam in the moonlight. It was unlike any scabbard he'd ever laid eyes on, curved and lethal, as unusual as its bearer. "Surrender," she demanded once more, "or die."

Phillip Blake only smiled, backing towards the cabin on retreating steps. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Michonne," he said by way of faux apology. "I pray you'll forgive me."

"Pray to God then, Blake. You'll be seeing him soon," the captain hissed through gritted teeth. She let out a cry in her own language. At once, her men surged forward.

The bloodshed began anew, the clash of swords, the screams of dying men, the boom of cannons, the slap of the waves upon the hull. Rick stood in the center of it all, unable to fight, simply attempting to not be killed. The pirates were like an ebon tide, a sea of dark faces that broke over the Victory with a vengeance. The ship rocked and spun useless as a cork as the Revenge riddled it with holes. The pirates moved in unison, systematically disabling the feeble attempts of the Navy to resist. The higher ups fell first, to Rick's surprise. The pirates knew who to look for as they staged their assault, disregarding the bottom of the barrel and heading instead for the high-ranking. In what seemed like moments, the officers aboard were all dead and captured, the remaining men fenced together like pigs in a pen. Rick ducked and ran, evading capture, his sword hanging uselessly at his side. He was unwilling to die for this cause, for a man like the Governor. Better to go down with the ship than in defense of evil. He took refuge behind the cabin, peering around the corner as far as he dared.

Rick watched as the captain called Michonne crossed through the fray wielding her weapon as though it were a part of her very being. In seconds, she had made short work of any who opposed her, leaving them bleeding at her feet.

"Jones!" she called out. A brown-skinned man rushed forward, carrying a heavy iron ram. "I need this door open," she declared.

At once, her man went to work. The wood of the door splintered after two heavy blows. On the third, a bullet tore through the hole that had just been opened and embedded itself firmly into the arm of the pirate ramming his way through. He fell back with a surprised cry, the battering ram clattering to the deck. Some other pirate stepped forward quickly to catch him, pulling the man to safety.

The captain herself paused her mission to ensure that her man was safe. Rick watched curiously, his fear forgotten as she exchanged tender words with the man. Once he was safely away, she turned to her purpose. With a few well-placed kicks, the remains of the door fell to pieces.

"Blake!" her rage was a fierce thing to behold, her sword dripping scarlet, raised to finish her task. From inside the cabin, Blake let out a bellow like some great bull and surged forward. He rushed for the captain with all his strength, but she was ready for him, prancing out of the way, cutting him for good measure. They spilled back out onto the deck. Every eye was on them as they circled one another in a deadly dance.

"You will pay for your sins," the captain Michonne said, raising her sword.

"I wouldn't fret much for the memory of your dear sweet mother and sister," Blake taunted. "You'll be seeing them soon."

The captain only smiled. Blake attacked but she evaded on light feet, spinning again, her sword arcing, the lapels of her faded black coat fluttering like a cape. Blake cried out in pain as the cut opened across his back. With a roar like a wounded animal, he scrambled for her. Over and over it went, this attack and retreat, and each time the Revenge's captain leveled a blow meant to punish and not to kill. Blake's fine clothing hung in bloody tatters, but his face lost none of its haughtiness.

"Even if you succeed, you are nothing," he spat, venom dripping from his every word. "Nothing but a negress and an orphan. You will be hunted down and hanged like a dog while my name is written in history. Nassau will never forget me, but you," he laughed, a wild, crazed sound. "You won't be worthy of a marker for the pit they throw you in."

Anger filled Rick at once. He leapt to his feet, unsure what he planned to do but unable to bear such cruelty. The Governor rushed forward again, hands scrambling for the captain's throat. She moved to evade him but stumbled, her foot catching in a divot left behind by a cannonball. The mistake cost her a precious second and Blake was upon her. Rick realized how small she actually was by comparison. She let out a shout as her enemy's hand enclosed on her throat and the pair of them went down hard on the deck. Her hat and sword fell with her, skittering out of reach.

Her crew leapt into action, but Rick got there first. Sword swinging, he caught Blake between the shoulders, plunging the blade in as deep as he dared, determined to save the strange and sad captain even if it killed him. She eyed him in surprise, her mouth forming words she was unable to speak. Blake shouted in pain, removing one hand from the captain's throat to elbow Rick hard in the face. Rick's nose gave way with a sickening blow, and he fell, dizzy. The pirates jumped over him in their attempts to get to their captain. They needn't have worried. Rick's distraction proved fruitful.

Captain Michonne grasped a jagged splinter of wood from the deck below and without hesitation, plunged it straight into the Governor's eye.

His scream echoed over the ship and he went reeling, spitting, cursing and bleeding. The captain climbed to her feet, reaching over to seize her sword once again.

"Enjoy hell, Blake," she declared, lifting her blade.

The Governor's head hit the deck in a crimson tide. The crew of the Victory let out an anguished cry just as the crew of the Revenge let out a raucous cheer. Rick huddled on the deck, dazed, bleeding, and certain that he was living his last few moments on this earth.

"You," the captain Michonne's attention turned to Rick as her men gathered up the remaining crew and forced them to the ship's edge. Rick blinked up at her, suddenly fearful. "Bring him to me," she instructed another of her men.

He was seized roughly, dragged unceremoniously past the body of the Governor and laid at the captain's feet.

"Your name," she demanded, staring down at him.

"Grimes," he said through a mouthful of blood. "Richard Grimes." Even in the dark, his vision obscured by blood and sweat and sea water, Rick was struck by her appearance up close. The wrath had seemingly gone out of her. What was left was a young woman, dark as she was lovely.

"What business does a man of the Royal Navy have saving the life of a pirate?" she asked.

Rick shook at her feet, searching for an answer. "Right is right," he settled on at last, "and wrong is wrong, pirate or otherwise."

A silence spread through the bandits at this. The captain looked down at him.

"Well-said," she complimented, a slight twist to her lips. "I had a mind to send this ship and every soul aboard to the depths of the sea," she told him.

"Please," Rick protested, unsure what leverage he had, but loathe to leave these sailors to their deaths. They had never been friends, true enough, but for long months they had been his constant and only companions.

"No?" Captain Michonne looked almost amused. A few of her men began to chuckle. "Then perhaps, Richard, an accord may be reached."

"Anything," he agreed, trembling, whether from fear or anticipation he could not be sure.

The captain glanced up at the sailors huddled in a pitiful pile. "Men, strip them of their colors and send them to the lifeboats," she instructed. "And you," she glanced back down at Rick.

"Mayhaps it's time for a change in course for you. Perhaps the life of a pirate?" One of her crew returned her hat to her. She perched it upon the top of her head, watching Rick expectantly.

"If I do this, you'll let them live?" Rick questioned, heart hammering.

"If they can navigate in a row boat," she answered, amused. She turned for a moment as her crew prodded the sailors towards the modest life boats. The Victory was sinking, and fast.

Rick knew a fair offer when he heard it. "You have my word," he relented. "I'll join you."

She stepped towards him. "Your jacket," she demanded. Nervously, Rick scrambled to shed the article that offended her so deeply. With a flourish, she tossed it over her arm, a trophy of her victory here. Her men let out another cheer. She turned to him, smiling. "Well then, Richard," she bent down, extending a hand. "Welcome aboard the Revenge."

Rick reached his own arm out and clasped her.


	2. A Pirate's Life

Rick's first week aboard the Revenge, he was regarded as a person to distrust. He existed in a world of sideways glances, muttered whispers, curious stares. Rick could not say he blamed the crew. He'd been a member of the Royal Navy, and it was not as though his foray into pirating had come quite of his own volition. He slept barely a wink for days on end, sure somehow that he'd be throttled in his hammock. Without the cover of his Navy jacket, the sun was unforgiving, blistering his skin. He reddened like a lobster aboard the decks of the Revenge, surrounded by mistrusting faces much more accustomed to bright sunlight than his. The crew here was a hodgepodge of former slaves, mulattos cast aside by society, deserters with nowhere else to go. Rick knew that he had no place among them.

This all seemed to matter not to the captain. Michonne could be found on deck through most of the day, her mess of long locs secured by a length of leather and held back from her face by her bandana. She was formidable to behold for sure, but as the days passed, she became less of an anomaly. Her fearsome nature dissolved out on the open seas and her smiles came easily now in the salty ocean air. Rick spied her often laughing with her first mate, Morgan Jones, the man who had been shot. She took her meals with her men, split the plunder equally. It was clear that they adored her, doted on her even, though she was certainly capable enough on her own. Rick could not fault them for this impulse.

It was all Rick could do not to stare at the stunning pirate queen. He avoided her instead, resigning himself to focus on work, determined to earn the trust of his shipmates and to ignore his growing attraction to their captain.

Halfway through his second week, she declared a celebration, pulling them into some pirate port. The town reeked of rum and sin, the air was clouded with gunpowder, and there was not a more unsavory group that Rick had ever laid eyes on. Still, he joined the crew as they crowded into some pub or another, doing his best to remain inconspicuous.

"Grimes, is it?" one of the crew, an Asian man, seized Rick's shoulder an hour into the night. He slammed himself onto the stool beside him. "Settle a bet for me, eh?"

Rick glanced at him curiously, taking in the face of the first mate, Jones, and a few other men from the Revenge. "What can I help you gentlemen with?" he asked.

"What makes a proper English gent like yourself join a bunch of pirates, eh? Too scared to die?" the young man asked. He was naught more than a teenager, still a few years shy of facial hair.

Rick smiled, amused despite his misgivings. "On the contrary," Rick nodded at the barkeep, ordering another round for the men around him. He'd been gifted his share of the plunder from the Victory, same as the others. It did not feel right to spend it on selfish pursuits. "To die in battle is no terrifying feat. To die of boredom in service of the Queen…" Rick paused, passing the mugs around. "That would be the real tragedy."

The young man beside him blinked once in surprise then let out a bark of laughter. "Is that so?" he asked.

Rick shrugged. "It is. Besides, I much prefer this captain to my last."

This statement hung in the air for a brief moment and Rick feared that he had misspoke, had given himself away. Then, the affirmations came, the whole of the crew agreeing with him, piping up, eager to speak of their commander.

"She's a bonny lass, that much is true," Jones spoke. "Isn't nothing we wouldn't do for our captain."

"Aye," the younger man agreed. They all peered expectantly at Rick. He had no trouble raising his own mug.

"To the Captain, then," he proclaimed.

"To the Captain!" the crew of the Revenge agreed.

By the third mug in, Rick was well and truly sloshed, Jones was singing a bracing ditty to the amusement of all of the bar girls, and the young lad was introducing himself.

"Rhee," he said, slurring his words. "The Captain found me near Santa Domingo. I was a cabin's boy for a monster of a man."

"She has an affinity for saving folks then?" Rick found the wherewithal to ask, despite the room spinning.

"Aye," Rhee agreed. "There's not one of us she hasn't. She's taken a shine to you, though."

"Aye?" Rick hiccuped, knocking back another swig.

"Aye," Rhee grinned. "It isn't everyday someone manages to save her. Just you wait. You'll see," he chuckled knowingly to himself.

It was another month and a half before Rick saw any evidence to support Rhee's claims. Rick had gone from a liability, to a curiosity, to a trusted member of the crew. His skin began to brown in the Caribbean sun, his hands calloused and toughened, his stomach adjusted to the diet, and even his manner of speech began to change. He found that the trappings of a pirate suited him far better than his naval uniform ever had. Aboard the Revenge, he forged friendships deeper than he ever had on dry land. And one day, near Port Royale, Rick found another reason to love his new life.

"Tell me Richard," Captain Michonne addressed him directly at last, "Do you find life aboard a pirate ship favorable?"

It seemed an absurd question to ask when he stood inside her quarters, hair long and curling in the salt air, face covered in a beard that was certainly not Navy regulation, feet bare and browned, shirt open to catch the rays of the sun and the spray of the sea. She seemed to realize it, if her slight smile was any indication.

"Aye," he confirmed, unable to take his eyes off of her. She had stowed her bandana and hat away and shed her great coat. She stood before him in a loose shirt and breeches, her sword hanging from her belt, her hair dancing into her face. When not in battle, she could be found most often adorned in the spoils of her profession, opals, rubies, gold, pieces nearly as lovely as she was, twisted into strange shapes from lands unknown to him. Several of the pirates aboard the Revenge bore symbols similar to these. They marked them as part of the crew, as trusted by their captain. Rick found that he longed for one, nearly as much as he longed for the woman herself. Thoughts of the captain never strayed far from his mind. With difficulty, Rick returned his attention to their conversation, struggling to make the most of this time together. "I never thanked you- for allowing me to live," he stumbled over his words, blushing under her cool gaze.

She smiled outright, her face lighting up as she laughed. "Consider us square then," she announced. "A life for a life." It was the first time she had mentioned the Governor to him since she'd plucked him from the sinking Victory. Rick wondered how often the incident crossed her mind, or whether she considered it at all. She walked casually across her quarters to pour a healthy serving of rum into a wooden cup and passed it to him. He took a swig, eyes still on his captain. "I suppose you might want to know why I called you here," she remarked, fetching a drink of her own. She sipped it slowly, knowing eyes fixed on his face. Rick swallowed thickly.

"I had thought perhaps you had forgotten me," Rick quipped before he could think better of it. He blushed all the more when she laughed again.

"Not so Richard," her accent was colored in the language of her people. Rhee claimed she hailed from Zimbabwe. She had come to this new world in the belly of her captured mother. If half the tales were true, the captain had been fighting all her life, turning to piracy in the wake of the death of her family at the hands of the Governor. Since dispatching him, they had not sunken a single ship. Rick wondered what awaited the Revenge now that she had fulfilled her namesake. "I require your insight," she requested. "We are to chart a new course."

"Of course," he agreed readily. "Any way I can assist, I shall," he gave an absurd little bow. The captain charitably did not remark upon it.

"I am glad to hear you say this," she told him. "A Navy man will be an asset." She raised her glass. Rick hastened to raise his as well. "Enough pleasantries," she declared with a wicked grin. "Let's lay our plans."

For many hours they labored over their work, scheming and plotting their attack and subsequent escape. They took their first ship not a week later, freeing its captured occupants somewhere near Haiti. The second came nary a month after the first, off the shores of St. Mary. The third followed within days, then the fourth. Each night Captain Michonne sought his counsel, and each night he gladly assisted, charting the most likely course of European merchant ships. At time Jones joined them, at times Rhee, but always, Rick looked forward to these hours together. Michonne made for lovely company, intelligent and kind, quick-witted and affable. The newly freed people aboard her ship wanted for nothing, and were sent off to dry land and new lives with plenty to sustain them. These acts of kindness did nothing to cool Rick's growing passion for her, despite his best efforts to hide it. He contented himself with assisting her as best he could, performing his duties with much enthusiasm.

It was in their third month as liberators that her kiss caught him completely by surprise.

Rick was bent over the maps, hard at work. The Navy was onto them now and they would need to be proceed with caution. The thought distressed him, partly for the sake of the crew, but mostly for the woman beside him. There was no port in the whole of the Caribbean that did not bear a wanted poster in her likeness. The only saving grace was that the illustrator fell far short of capturing her beauty. As luck would have it, they remained uncaptured. Rick seemed to be the only one aboard who was concerned.

"They suspect us now," he warned her. "Captain, for your own sake, be careful." She was insistent that they sail right back into enemy waters, insistent that there were more to save. Rick knew the truth of her words, but he also knew what happened to pirates who were captured.

"I know of the dangers," she reminded him, running a hand along his arm. He tightened, tense for more than one reason. "You must relax, Richard," she chided, sensing his mood. Perhaps she knew the effect her uttering his name had on him, for Rick began to settle at once despite his misgivings. The captain set his customary drink in front of him without removing her hand from his arm. Her fingers drummed a rhythm across his bicep, her lips pursed in thought. "How are you with pain?" she asked suddenly.

Rick stammered, determined to not give himself away. "I can handle it," he assured her. Pain did not concern him nearly so much as the palm of her hand burning through his clothes.

She graced him with another of her mischievous smiles, steering him to sit down. She released him as she moved to bustle through her cabin. Rick watched in confusion until she returned to him, bearing a familiar tool.

"Would you like to choose yours?" she asked.

Rick shook his head, rolling up his sleeve. "Your choice, captain."

She went to work, brow furrowed, hand steady, raising and lowering the needle with practiced precision. It stung but Rick could barely feel it. The woman hovering over him commanded every bit of his attention. Her hair was tossed carelessly over her shoulder. The long locs tickled his hand as she moved. He drank more for something to do than for the taste, struggling to keep his eyes on her work and not her face.

"There," she announced with a flourish, removing the needle and staring approvingly. "You're a proper pirate now." She pursed her lips once more to blow a cooling breath over his new tattoo.

With difficulty, he turned his face away to look at her work. A small, ebony symbol adorned him now, the skin red and irritated around it. A circle was the center of it, with four rounded points extending outward. Her recognized its shape at once from the captain's own tattoos. The mark adorned her arm, much in the same way that it now adorned his. Rick's heart raced just to look at it. Its rhythm sped up even more when he chanced a glance at her face to find her staring straight back at him. She sat up, leaning forwards before he could even perceive the motion clearly.

The touch of her lips was a gentle caress, no more than a whisper of a kiss, like a light breeze over the decks. She pulled back to study him, her lovely face searching his. "I will not force you," she assured him.

She did not need to force him. Rick found his wits. He seized her around the waist, ignoring the burn of his skin in favor of dragging her into his arms. Their kiss this time had none of the hesitancy of the first. She kissed with a fervor he was eager to return, open-mouthed and deeply, trading the flavor of the rum between them.

He clung to her hips and she pressed herself into his palms, letting out a contented sigh. Strong, persistent hands urged him backwards, across the cabin and into her bed. His shirt and trousers were much easier to remove than his naval uniform had been. His captain similarly laid herself bare. Rick took her in, wide-eyed, nearly in disbelief.

"Michonne," he choked her name out without her title. She smiled, leaning over him, her lips finding his again.

"Is that how you address your captain?" she teased, straddling him.

His answer was lost in a groan as she reached between them, grasping him surely. He fumbled for a moment, unsure where to place his hands, unsure if this was all some rum-induced fever dream. He gripped at the blankets beneath him, curling his fingers in, desperately trying to gather himself.

"Richard," she must have sensed his hesitancy for she released him to grasp his hands in her own. "Touch me," she instructed firmly.

He sat up to face her, eye to eye. She stared back at him. He kissed her again, softly, the way he'd imagined for months on end until she began to melt like candle wax in his lap. She released his hands to drape her arms over his shoulders, her short blunt nails sending shivers through him as she clawed lightly at his back. He busied himself with stroking her, cupping first her chin, then moving lower. "Aye, Captain" he complied, delighting in her shudder, in the way she clenched around his fingers. He had half a mind to kiss her everywhere he could reach, but his captain had other ideas. Pushing at his shoulders, she coaxed him into lying beneath her.

His hands fell again to her hips as she mounted him at last. The sensation of it all sent him spiraling immediately. Her hips moved in lazy circles, as natural as the rocking of her beloved ship. There was no shame to be found on her face as she took her pleasure, breathy moans escaping her as she bounced. Rick reached upwards, cupping her again, pinching and teasing until her cries lowered in timbre, until her movements took on much more fervor and she tightened and released around him. He cried out as he finished, but she allowed him little rest, bending to kiss and stroke him until he was ready for her once more.

She rode him twice that night before allowing him to switch their positions. Rick seized the opportunity, rolling her underneath him. He pressed her into the mattress beneath, licking and sucking until she panted for him. He clenched her wrists together in one broad hand, raising them above her head, needing to pause her endless onslaught of pleasure. His other hand found its way between her dark strong thighs, just above where they were connected. He thrust into her again and again, until he could no longer distinguish where he ended and she began. Her cries escalated, her skin pebbled, and her head fell back as she called for him to go deeper, harder. He complied eagerly, releasing her so that he could grasp her fully around the hips, filling his palms with her rounded ass. Michonne arched against him as she fell apart, her hands clasping blindly at his back, his name falling from her lips.

"Richard," she gasped, eyes flying open almost in disbelief.

He kept pace, refusing to slow down, driving her instead towards another climax. She tightened and moaned, writhing like some wild thing, her legs clamping around his waist, her ankles digging into his lower back.

"Call me Rick, Captain," he requested, kissing her for good measure.

He returned to his hammock several hours later than normal, grateful for the cover of night to hide his grin. Morning dawned warm and early as ever and with it the captain.

"Good morning, Rick," she greeted, a smile playing on her kiss-swollen lips.

The crew did not ask why she began to address him so informally in public, though judging by Rhee and Jones' knowing looks, they had a fair idea. Rick called her "Captain" still, though at nights she settled for far less propriety.

For six months their nightly routine ended in this new ritual, in a sweaty and exhausted pile between her twisted sheets. Night after night, Rick returned to his own quarters reluctantly, his mind filled with the memory of Michonne, her taste, the sound of her voice, the feel of her skin. By her side is where he longed most to be, though she spent her days much as she always had. The Revenge continued her crusade despite Rick's warnings. Each mission only leant to his sense of dread, each incident increasing his anxiety. His captain would hear none of it, not even as they lounged together in the aftermath of passion. His protestations seemed to amuse her more than anything, or inspire a look he liked not at all. He knew she thought him cowardly, thought him unwilling to risk himself for others. In truth, he would happily sacrifice his own life. What he would not do was watch her be taken, watch what the Crown would do to her once they had her in their clutches.

Half a dozen more ships fell to the Revenge in quick succession. Her latest conquest now laid on the seafloor leagues away, and her captain now laid in Rick's arms, warm in bed. Above them on deck, hundreds of stolen African men, women, and children were now crowded, celebrating excitedly. The sounds of their merriment could be heard from the cabin. Michonne's head was pressed against Rick's shoulder, her eyes closed, content to listen.

"We will get them settled, then head out again," she instructed. Each success only bolstered her resolve. Rick rubbed patterns into her back, weighing his next words carefully.

"Captain," Rick began, kissing her forehead, "perhaps we should allow some time to pass." This last ship had fallen far too easily, its crew only a fraction of what should have been aboard. It did not sit easily with him.

"And let more be sold into bondage?" she questioned sharply, raising her head to fix him with reproachful eyes. "Have you forgotten the fate that awaits those we do not save?"

The question stung, but Rick persisted. "Of course not, Captain," he assured her. "It is your fate that has me worried." He spread his palm against the length of her back, mapping out the muscles and smooth skin he'd become so acquainted with. A long, jagged scar was the only mar upon her, a relic of her first brush with the Governor.

"I have suffered already," she reminded him. "A bit more suffering concerns me not."

"Perhaps you care nothing for your well-being, but I do not share the sentiment." Frustration reared its head. Rick was becoming flushed, nearly angry. He had seen the fate suffered by pirates and Africans alike. Michonne was both. The Crown cared not about her humanity.

"Rick, speak plainly," she searched his face, trying as she often did to see his point of view.

"They are searching for you, Michonne," he told her quietly, his tone plaintive. "If it costs them a dozen ships, they will sacrifice them. What end awaits you if they capture you?"

"I cannot sit idly by," her retort was sharp. She sat up, removing herself from his embrace. "Fear has no place aboard the Revenge."

Rick raised up as well, coming to sit before her. The pair of them were bare as the days of their birth, but it dissuaded neither from arguing their point. "And if they take you, what do you suppose will happen to the crew?" Desperation crept into him now, unlike any he'd ever experienced before.

She scoffed at his low blow, pulling back from him further. "We have all been liberated at one time or another. We are all willing to risk this to pay the debt forward. If you are not, perhaps it is time you disembarked with the rest. The life of a pirate is not for everyone."

Rick reached for her arm. "Michonne, please. Just hesitate a month—"

"I will not, Richard." His name hit him full in the face like the sting of a whip. "And to everyone aboard this ship, I am captain. I suggest you fall in line." She tugged her arm away and left the bed, standing to face him in all of her stubborn glory. "Or leave the Revenge."

Rick stood as well, a torrent of emotion roiling through him. Chastised, he focused on his anger. His captain watched him, expressionless as he gathered his clothing without another word to her. She said nothing as he dressed, spilling back out onto the deck and into the midst of the celebration.

He moved among the people, politely rejecting drinks and food, trying and failing to disguise his distress. Rhee sent him a sympathetic glance from across the ship. The young man was too observant by far, and despite his initial hesitancy, Rick had found himself confiding in Rhee more and more often.

"That's just the captain's way," Rhee consoled him the morning after. "If you knew where she came from, what she's endured…" he trailed off, following Rick's eyeline to where his gaze was fixed.

Captain Michonne had boarded a boat, leading the people ashore. Rick kept her in sight, but confined himself to the Revenge. She had scarcely deigned to look at him this morning. Now, Michonne stood resplendent on the beach as her charges departed, hugging and kissing each one, a joyful expression upon her face. This was her life's purpose.

"Aye," Rick agreed reluctantly. "Perhaps I do not understand. But what I do know is what happens to liberators and pirates when the Navy gets ahold of them."

"You cannot make the choice for her," Rhee sighed. "Only choose whether or not her mission is worth the price you must pay for it."

"And what price is that?" Rick moved his eyes from the woman on the beach to the man beside him.

"The price of losing the one you love one day," Rhee said solemnly.

Rick did not bother to protest. A sense of loss consumed him already. He fixed baleful eyes on his captain, far off on the beach. Her back was towards her crew, her eyes on the dozens moving off into the island.

The cannon blast took everyone by surprise.

Rick turned port side, hoping against hope that a gun had accidentally discharged. What he saw instead was a Royal battleship moving in hot pursuit. Panic gripped the people onshore at once. They tore off into the foliage, screaming, crying, determined to not be captured a second time. Captain Michonne's crew kept a much more level head. Jones was already shouting orders, commanding the men to fight off the attack. Rick could scarcely hear him. He fixed his eyes outward instead, searching for the captain who has become his lover.

She stood on the beach, sword drawn, her countenance grim. At once she moved, heading for the small boat that had borne her ashore. Rick yelled for her as the cannons boomed, but she did not turn towards him. Instead she rowed for all she was worth, straight into the path of the oncoming enemy. Rick understood at once what she planned to do.

"No!" he yelled, prepared to abandon ship, determined to head her off. He was stopped by Rhee's firm hand.

"Grimes," his mouth was a thin, harsh line. "We have orders."

"Blast your orders," Rick kicked him away, redoubling his efforts.

"These were in place long before you, sailor," Rhee swallowed thickly. "I gave the captain my word." The Naval ship spotted Michonne and turned course, heading straight towards her and away from the Revenge.

"You would let her die?" Rick accused, still fighting.

"To see her cause continue?" Rhee looked on the verge of tears. He glanced towards the beach, towards the people escaping towards freedom. "Aye." Without further ado, he struck Rick about the head with the blunt end of his rapier.

Dazed, Rick fell, squirming feebly as his fellow crew dragged him backwards. He could make out the scarlet of Captain Michonne's bandana, way off in the distance. Helpless, Rick watched them pursue her as he was pushed back aboard the Revenge.

"You know what we have to do," Jones addressed the crew. "Lead them away from the people."

The crew mobilized in retched silence even as Rick protested. "We have to save her," he slurred, vision blurring. "We have to-"

"Follow orders," Jones finished for him.

The Revenge turned tail, catching the wind in its coal-colored sails. The tides favored them, carrying them far away from where their captain had gone to sacrifice herself. The crew gathered, watching in horror as the ship in the distance bared down on Michonne. She stood proudly in her boat, chin up, sword facing the sun, until the ship covered her and they could see no more.


	3. Michonne and Rick

The only sound to be heard aboard the Revenge was the slap of the waves against the hull. It was as though the ship herself was in mourning. The sails swung soundlessly, the hammocks hung damp and empty, the halls echoed a haunting melody, the whistle of the sea breeze through the wooden slats. The whole of the crew was gathered around Jones, somber, as though the grief of it all rendered them unable to speak.

Only Rick was in motion, rushing through Captain Michonne's cabin. A perfunctory glance at the maps on her table confirmed what he already knew. He moved on quickly, rummaging through her trunk until he found it, preserved carefully at the base. He hung the indigo jacket out to air while he busied himself with her antique straight razor. He wasn't surprised to find the trinket sharp—Michonne was not a woman to leave a weapon of any sort in a state of disuse. His skin stung as he dragged the blade across it, removing months of growth in large chunks. He ignored the discomfort, pushing through, his mind singularly focused.

"Grimes."

Rick spun, brandishing the blade, heart pumping adrenaline through his system like liquid fire. "Jones," he exhaled, relieved. He returned to his work.

"The Captain's orders were very clear," Jones' voice was heavy.

Rick scraped the last patch of unruly hair from his chin but said nothing. He placed the razor down once more in its porcelain basin and gathered up the jacket that had once belonged to him.

"You intend to navigate to Nassau yourself?" Jones questioned in disbelief. "On a moonless night?"

"That is where they took our captain. That is where I intend to go." Rick seized a length of string to secure his curls back before chancing a glance at himself in the looking glass. His reflection looked less the pirate he had become and more the soldier he had been.

"Then you storm in and what after?" Jones challenged.

"Save her." Rick secured his belt, hanging his sword.

"And if you die?" Jones asked.

"Then I die," Rick did not hesitate. He looked up at the man who had become his friend. "She is worth it." He made as though to pass the first mate. Jones caught him with a hand to his chest.

"Aye, that she is," he murmured. He released Rick at once. "You will need gunpowder. And you will need to be quick." Jones removed his own pistol, handing it to Rick along with a powder bag. "We will take you as far as we're able. If you save her, she will know where to meet us. If not—"

"I'm not coming back without her," Rick assured him. He accepted the weapons offered. "You have my gratitude." He was not sure if this was a debt he could ever repay.

"Bring her back." Jones waved him off. "You aren't the only one who loves our captain," Jones nodded, cocking an eyebrow. "Though perhaps, your love is of a different nature." He paused, perhaps daring Rick to contradict him. Rick offered no protest. Jones spoke again, something like hope sparking in his eyes. "I hope to see you return, Grimes."

"As do I," Rick assured him. They clasped hands.

The night loomed black as pitch when the crew lowered Rick down to the sea. He'd muffled his oars with rags, but every splash still set his heart skipping. In his mind's eye, he reviewed the maps of Nassau, drawing on knowledge from his life before this one. Its fort was likely to be in the traditional style, its cells in the same place. If they followed procedure, Michonne would be executed at dawn.

He would get there before then.

The sky retained the inky indigo of nighttime when he reached the shores at last. Rick did not tarry, but stowed the boat away, donned his jacket, and hurried into the port town. Its residents had not yet begun to stir as he navigated through narrow, cobblestoned streets, doing his best to dampen the sound of his boots. He moved swiftly, praying his knowledge was sound as he hurried toward the fort.

Despite the death of their governor, it appeared Nassau functioned much the same without him. From a distance, Rick could see the fort, the sailors arranged in neat rows, overseeing the construction of a gallows. On light feet, he entered the compound, forcing himself into the rigid posture he had become so unfamiliar with in the last year. He went largely ignored by the tired servicemen, nodding politely as he carried on as though nothing was amiss, as though he wasn't searching for the jail cells.

"She's secured then?" a conversation reached Rick's ears, shattering the pristine quiet of the morning. He paused, busying himself with some menial task, praying that he had not run out of time.

"Aye. Deep down where no one could even hear her scream. The harpy put up a hell of a fight." A man, scruffy, paunchy and looking much like his best days were behind him, spat upon the ground. "Had to hit her with that sword of hers. It's a pretty thing. Might have to see if I can keep it."

"Thought they'd want to hang onto that," a worker remarked, adding nails to the wood of the gallows.

"Well, mayhaps it goes missing," the other said, shrugging. His face split into a perverse grin. "That sword wasn't the only pretty thing."

This got the other man's attention. "What do you mean by that?" Rick resisted the urge to rush forward and shake the jailer, instead fixing his ears to hear the response.

"I mean them posters didn't do her justice. Shame I had to bloody her up." He wheezed out a chuckle. Rick felt anger flare within him. Whatever mark he found upon Michonne, he vowed to pay forward to the jailer in turn. Even the other man looked sick. He returned to his work. The jailkeeper goaded him. "Don't tell me you pity the lass. She's sent some of the Crown's best men to the depths."

"I've got no stomach for this," the worker replied tersely. "I want no part of it."

"You're building the gallows, son," the wheezy laugh rang out again. "You're in it."

The jailer shuffled off, chuckling to himself. Rick followed at a distance, doing his best to keep his hand off of his borrowed pistol. The jailkeeper did not notice him for several paces. When Rick followed him down below towards the cells, he turned to him at last.

"Following me, boy?" he questioned, squinting up at him in the dark.

"I've been ordered to assist you with moving the prisoner," Rick drew on his most cultured tones. The words felt heavy in his mouth.

The jailkeeper furrowed his brow, but apparently Rick passed muster. "All right then. Don't dally. Could use a hand wrangling the lass. She's a fighter." He laughed to himself once again.

Rick fell instep behind him, mind racing. He could overpower this man surely, but he'd need to wait for the right moment. His eyes fell to the ring of brass keys on the jailkeeper's belt. One of them led to Michonne's freedom, but there were dozens, all of different sizes and shapes. He would have to play this carefully.

"Oy! Miss pirate!" the jailkeeper sang out, banging the bars of the empty cells nearest them. "It's almost time. I hope you've gotten right with God. If God even talks to your kind, that is."

Rick stiffened but continued behind him, steeling himself for what he might see. Her cell came into view, lit by a lone, flickering torch. The flame threw smoke against the brick walls, further clouding Rick's vision. Even so, he could make her out. She was small without her great coat, shivering in her torn and sullied clothing despite her best efforts. She clearly had not gone down without a fight. She was stained in crimson from head to toe, whether her blood or others' Rick did not want to guess. She stood in the center of her cell, hands shackled together, shaky, her head still bleeding from a wound at her crown.

"Be alert," the jailkeeper instructed Rick. "She's quicker and stronger than she looks." He pulled out his great ring of keys. Surely, he selected a large bronze one and inserted it into the lock. "You ready?"

Rick stepped forward into the light. Michonne spotted him immediately. Her eyes rounded for just a moment before she quickly fixed her face impassive. "Aye," Rick nodded, his gaze on his captain.

The cell door opened and Rick struck immediately. With quick hands, he seized the ring of keys and pushed. The jailer fell forward. Michonne side stepped him, rushing for the door. The jailer let out a cry, but Rick pulled his pistol, leveling it right between his eyes.

"I wouldn't if I were you," Rick cautioned. He held the keys far back, the pistol steady. He had a mind to pull the trigger, but did not want to call attention to them.

"They'll find you," the jailkeeper spat. "They'll string you up right next to her."

"But you'll still be dead," Rick reminded him, his voice a clipped growl. "Now," he gestured with his pistol. "Move aside so the lady can exit."

Reluctantly, the jailer complied, mean eyes fixed on the pair of them. Michonne scooted past him, coming to stand by Rick's side. She moved with a pronounced limp though she tried to hide it. Rick steeled his feelings, determined to not draw undo attention to her injury.

"My sword," she demanded, voice hard and confident. When the jailer did not respond immediately, Rick pressed the barrel of the pistol to his forehead with enough force to bruise.

"Her sword," he repeated.

With a grunt, the jailer gestured. Michonne's quick eyes followed, spotting her attire stacked haphazardly in a corner. She rushed for it as Rick pushed the man backwards into Michonne's cell roughly. He locked the door, leaving the jailkeeper glowering at them.

"You'll never make it out alive," he shouted at them as they prepared to flee. "Never!"

Unable to resist further, Rick turned, bringing the handle of the pistol down with lightening precision. The jailkeep collapsed with a cry, unconscious and with a wound to match Michonne's. If his display of anger stirred anything within her, Michonne did not show it. In fact, she looked barely able to stand on her feet. Her shoulders slumped at once when the jailer's eyes were no longer upon her. Shakily, she steadied herself with a hand around Rick's arm.

Rick supported Michonne as best he could as they weaved their way back to the upper levels. She was staring at him in a state of shock, whether from surprise or blood loss he could not discern.

"Rick…" she began, her voice quieter now. He shushed her, desperate to stay focused.

"Captain, we have to be quick. I've got an idea. But it means I must leave you shackled for now. Do you agree?" They could not afford to argue now.

Dazed, she nodded. Rick moved quickly, draping her in her large coat and securing her sword out of sight by her side. He guided her as gently as possible to stand before him, his pistol at the ready.

"Follow my lead," he instructed quietly.

The sun was beginning to peer beyond the horizon as they emerged into the town, taking the back exit out into the narrow alleyways. God must have favored them that day. Large storm clouds were rolling in, black and ominous. They shaded any oncoming light. Rick led his captain away from the fort as quickly as he dared, towards the docks. It was taking considerable strength to keep her on her feet. He doubted she'd been fed or given water since her capture, and he longed to inspect the wound on her head. There would be time only if he could escape.

The townsfolk were milling about now, making their way towards the fort under the promise of music and a hanging. They would be discovered soon.

"We need to disguise ourselves," Michonne's voice was weak. "We will draw too much attention otherwise."

"Aye," Rick saw the wisdom in her words at once.

"There," Michonne nodded her chin in the direction of a stable. The pigs inside did not protest when they entered.

Rick moved them, pausing only to bar the door. He searched the key ring, wondering which would unshackle Michonne's wrists.

"The small, gold one," she instructed. Rick did not question her, but fixed the key in the lock. She sighed in relief as the shackles fell to the ground.

"Here," he seized a pitcher of water from a table in the corner and handed it to her. "I'll find you clothes." He left her to drink and eat the remnants of the butcher's breakfast. She fell upon the bread and water ravenously. He found a boy's breeches and shirt and handed them to her, turning his back to her while she changed.

"Rick," her voice was stronger now, though without her usual confidence. "I need your help, please."

He turned, swallowing his emotion as he coaxed her ripped and bloodied shirt gently over her head. Her skin pebbled despite her efforts to restrain her shivering. Rick smoothed a palm down her arm, over the tattoo that matched his own before he could think better of it. She voiced no complaints, only clung to him while he changed her. Deciding it was worth the pause, he wet her soiled shirt, pushing it carefully against her gash.

"It's worse than it looks," she assured him with a weak smile. Rick found he could not smile back. He wondered if she would allow him to carry her. Her ankle was clearly swollen.

"We make our way to the boat," he told her. "Once we get free, Jones will meet us at the rendezvous point. If they catch us, you run Michonne."

"I will not leave you—" she began to protest. He covered her mouth with the back of his hand, a gesture he would not have dared on the Revenge.

"I did not come here to see you die," he told her firmly. "You leave me." The point was not negotiable.

She said nothing, only watched him as he shed his jacket and tucked it away. He handed her a hat and she wordlessly tucked her hair beneath it. She packed the remainder of the food and some coins into a nearby bag and slung it across her shoulder.

They were moments away from leaving when the door to the adjoining shop opened up. Apparently, not everyone in Nassau had headed to the fort.

"Well, what have we here?" a too-loud voice boomed joyfully. Rick instinctively stepped in front of Michonne.

The man came into the low light from the window. He was tall, wiry but strong, smiling jovially, as though Christmas had come early.

"Thieves?" he guessed, stepping towards them. "Pirates?" he guessed again, looking as though he knew the truth. "This must be my lucky day."

"Step aside," Rick instructed, pistol out. He moved carefully, keeping Michonne behind him until their backs were at the table. He pushed her, willing her without words to flee for the door, but she remained steadfast behind him. Her hand curled around his bicep, squeezing.

"See," the man continued, unflustered. "I think you might have just escaped from that fort out there. Which means they'll be looking for you. Which means, you aren't going to risk setting off that much sound." He advanced, bending to pick up a wooden beam from beside the wall. "Imagine the reward I'll get for being the one to find you." He smiled.

"Move back," Rick stepped forward, pistol cocked.

"You probably won't be worth much," the man shrugged. "But she—" he paused. "It is a she, isn't it?" His eyes fell to Michonne. "She'll be worth a pretty penny for me and my lovely bride." He raised his makeshift club, aiming for Rick's head. Rick resigned himself to the shot, mentally calculating how fast they would need to run to escape.

He needn't have wasted the effort. From behind him, Michonne moved suddenly, her arm arcing as she threw with all her might. The knife, once critical to the butcher's breakfast, now found its way solidly into his throat.

He gurgled, eyes open in shock as he fell. His weapon clattered uselessly to the ground. Rick turned to look at her, but this time it was she who would not let him speak.

"Come," Michonne pressed insistently at Rick's back. They rushed out and into the streets, pushing for the docks. The rain had begun in earnest now, splashing into the streets and running like rivulets between the cobblestones. They were soaked in moments, trudging through the gray waters gathering like a flood.

"I hid my boat on the northern side," Rick told her.

"No time," Michonne shook her head. She paused, looking around. "Come," she repeated, tugging him back towards the fort.

"What?" Rick tried to stop her. "They'll all be there." He thought perhaps that she was dizzier than he'd first assumed, but she fixed him with a familiar no-nonsense stare.

"No," she shook her head. "They are all out here, looking for us." She pointed. Soldiers were indeed pouring into the town down the street, knocking down doors. They watched from behind the corner as a group arrived at the butcher's house. "That will buy us time," she whispered. "Come!'

Rick followed, praying to himself as they ran back towards the fort. Michonne moved surely, rushing past the high stone walls and down towards the decks where the naval ships sat. Rick discerned her plan.

"Look for a smaller one," he instructed. "It won't look like much, no weapons. But it will be swift."

Michonne followed his instructions, rushing from ship to ship until they came across the smallest. Rick paused to inspect her. "The Liberty," he read aloud.

"It's fate," Michonne smiled, tugging him after her.

It began to storm in earnest as Rick freed their commandeered boat from the dock. He hopped aboard, helping Michonne to throw the sails. The Liberty caught the wind like a dream, skating easily over the choppy waves and out into the open sea.

They were hundreds of yards out when a horn blast went up from the fort. They'd been spotted.

"We're well out of range," he assured Michonne.

She appeared to not hear him. Instead, she stood near the helm, hat removed, her chin tilted upwards to let the rain run down her face. Blood and filth cleared away with the weather, until she looked almost her old self. Rick watched her, his chest constricting. Words filled his head, hundreds of things he wished to convey now that he had managed to free her. He wondered where to begin when she turned towards him at last.

"I did not think I would ever feel the rain again," she said simply, a smile playing on her lips.

Rick smiled back at her. The Liberty's sails filled as the wind picked up, shepherding them farther away. It would take nearly an hour to mobilize the big warships, Rick knew. It would take considerably longer to get them past the break in a storm. For now, they were safe. Cautiously, he walked towards her, standing beside her.

"You should rest," he told her, laying a hand on her shoulder. He could navigate them well enough from here if she told him where the rendezvous point was.

Instead, she turned fully towards him. Droplets were caught in her hair and long lashes, tracing her features as they dripped down. She reached for him, her hand tightening around his wrist.

"I was prepared to face my fate," she told him. "I'd long resigned myself. After my family was killed, I knew I was on borrowed time. I knew God left me to save others, as many as I could. Then I thought He would let me rest." She swallowed, looking at Rick. "But when I was in the cell, I found I did not have the peace I thought I would."

Rick stayed silent, watching her. She reached for his hand, tentatively, as though she feared he might pull back. Rick held tight.

"I thought of you, Richard. I thought of our last exchange. Of what may have thought about me. What you thought I might feel about you." She may have been crying, but he could not tell as the rain continued to fall around them.

"Michonne…" he choked out, seeking to console her. She shook her head, reaching for his face.

"I did not wish for you to risk yourself for me," she told him, expression full of sadness.

"I would do it again," Rick assured her. As many times as it took, he would follow her.

"I cannot stop my mission," she said, something almost like regret on her face.

"I know," he stepped towards her. "But you cannot stop me from coming to rescue you either." There was not a thing she could do to dissuade him.

She looked almost amused. "And if they take us both?" she questioned.

"Foolish of them," he shrugged. He clasped his hand around her, drawing her towards him. She came willingly. He pressed his forehead to hers, mindful of her injury.

Michonne was less concerned, folding herself deeper into his embrace, tilting her mouth towards his. "Richard, I—"

He swallowed her next words in a kiss. She responded ravenously, parting her lips for him, drinking from him as deeply as she could. Her hands clambered at his chest, her fingers curling into the lapels of his coat. Rick held her around the waist, pulling her until they were as close as possible, hearts hammering against one another.

"I love you," he disengaged for the briefest of moments to whisper this in her ear. She shuddered against him.

"Rick," his name was half moan, half plea. Her hands fell to his waistband. She removed his belt with sure, steady hands.

"Captain," Rick protested, even as his hips thrust towards hers on their own accord. "You should rest."

In answer, she kissed him again, slipping her palm into the front of his pants. "Later," she assured him. "Please?"

She did not need to beg. Rick hiked her into his arms, turning her until her back was against the mast. She smiled in delight as he kissed her neck, voicing her approval with an unabashed moan. Rick's fingers found her breeches. He pushed them down until they landed with a wet slap at their feet. He worried for a moment that she would catch a chill, but Michonne quickly wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him towards her. Heat radiated between them as they grasped at one another, fumbling to reconnect. Rick hoisted her higher, looping his arms beneath her legs to hold her. She rolled her body towards him, pleading without words. Moving carefully, mindful of the ordeal she had just gone through, he entered her slowly. Her body accepted his without resistance. They cried out together, moving as one, exchanging kisses and soft words.

"Rick," Michonne called his name, tucking her head into the crook between his neck and shoulder, confident in his ability to hold her steady. Her hands traced the shape of his tattoo. She dropped a kiss on it, trailing her lips over every bit of him she could reach.

"I've got you, love," he assured her. He shivered as he moved, almost in disbelief that she was safe, that she was back in his arms, that she wanted to be there. Words fell from his mouth unbidden, professions of love, endearments, promises for a future.

In answer, Michonne chanted his name over and over, mixing in colorful phrases from her own tongue. Using her hold around his waist as leverage, she rolled her hips against his, pulling him deeper and deeper still. Her fingers plied at the curls of his hair, upsetting their orderly style. Rick cared not at all. He raised a hand to tug at her own locs, re-familiarizing with the feel of her. Her cries took on a new timbre, growing higher and higher, a tell-tell sign that she was close to the edge. She held to him tightly with a grip liable to bruise him.

"Rick," she called his name on a breathless gasp, "ndiyakuthanda." The phrase was foreign to his ears, but there was no mistaking her sentiment. He kissed her without abandon, parting her lips with his tongue as his hips moved wildly. With a shudder and a scream, she fell apart, dragging him over the edge with her. He nearly collapsed, but managed to hold fast, refusing to drop her. Michonne panted against him, head bowed, body slack, exhausted at last. They shook against one another in silence, unable or unwilling to let go.

She raised a hand to cup his chin, fingers dancing though the stubble that already dusted his face. "I had not planned on you, Rick," she murmured almost to herself, her eyes searching his with something like wonder.

"Nor I," he admitted, smiling. She brightened at the sight of his grin.

"Yet, here we find ourselves," she laughed lightly, her thumb tracing his features.

He longed to hold her longer, but their escape was not yet at an end. "Rest now," Rick lowered her to the deck on shaking legs, kissing her again for good measure. "I'll get us home." He had plans for her, if she was amicable to them, plans that began with getting her safely back in bed.

Michonne was much more amenable to his suggestions now, nodding as she lounged back against the ship. He covered her, making sure she was warm before standing. He'd begun to open his mouth to question her about their bearings, but she was too quick for him. "Port Royale," she breathed out, smiling.

"Port Royale it is," he stood up, hurrying to take them home.

"Rick?" she called to him as he took the wheel. He glanced back at her. She was curled beneath her coat, already beginning to fall asleep under the safety of the Liberty's sails.

"Aye Captain?" he asked.

"Thank you," she told him.

"My pleasure," he assured her, pointing the Liberty towards Port Royale.

The sun was beginning to fall as the Liberty made her arrival. The Revenge was docked on the south of the island, out of sight. Michonne had woken as though she possessed some sixth sense once they came within a mile of Port Royale, eager to be reunited with her ship.

"Captain," Rick stepped aside to make way for Michonne. She took the wheel with panache, her bandana back around her locs, her sword back at her side.

"I'll take the wheel from here," she smiled at him. Rick had no objections.

Rhee was the first to spot them, high up in the crow's nest. He let out a delighted cry that echoed even above the sound of the waves. The crew echoed it little by little, until they all gathered portside, watching them.

Captain Michonne came aboard to much cheering, Rick right behind her. From his place at the helm, Jones grinned broadly.

"You did it," he extended a hand towards Rick.

Rick removed the pistol from his belt, handing it back to its rightful owner. "With your help," he clasped Jones' hand. The crew surged around them.

"What are our orders, Captain?" Rhee asked eagerly.

"Back to sea," she said, smiling. "Perhaps we try our luck in new waters."

"The Cape?" Jones asked knowingly.

"Aye," she laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Then to Africa we go," Jones nodded. "You should take rest, Captain. Your ordeal has been long."

"I think I shall," she nodded. Her eyes turned to Rick, a sly look upon her face. "Richard requires rest as well."

From behind her, Rhee shook his head, blushing furiously. Rick could not find it in himself to be embarrassed.

"We thought he might," Jones gave a resigned sigh.

"I trust you can handle it," the captain smirked at her first mate. Without further ado, she leaned towards Rick, pulling him in for a searing kiss. A cry of surprise and amusement went up from the crew, but Rick scarcely heard it. Dazed, he followed Michonne into her cabin. She shut the door behind him, smiling wickedly. "Come to bed, love," she ordered, shedding clothing as she went.

"Aye, Captain," he complied, following her lead.


	4. An Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Michonne set sail for calmer waters, but will an old acquaintance cause a storm between them?

"You owe me."

These simple three words might have been the last that Captain Caesar ever spoke, save not for the man he was attempting to exploit. Rick stayed Michonne's hand, squeezing her fingers nearly the moment the poorly veiled threat left the mouth of the man in front them.

"I owe you nothing," Michonne drew in a labored breath, eyes narrowed. "You forget yourself, Caesar."

"I forget nothing," Caesar smiled, amused, as was his habit. "In fact, Michonne, I think it is you who are prone to forgetting."

"It's Captain," it was Rick who spoke now, anger apparent, even as he held her hand firmly away from her sword.

"My apologies," Caesar turned his face towards Rick. "There was a time Captain Michonne could speak for herself. I didn't realize that she'd acquired someone to do it for her."

Michonne felt irritation surge within her, not an altogether foreign emotion in this man's presence. "Do not mistake our familiarity for friendship," Michonne stepped forward, coming eye to eye with the man. The years had not changed him much since their last meeting. He was still tall, brawny, with a cleanly shaved head. That devilish twist of his lips and his baritone voice had sent dozens swooning in their youth. There was a glint to his eyes though that she cared for not at all, not now or then.

"You've built quite the reputation for yourself, Captain," Caesar tilted his head at her. "You and the Revenge. I recall a time when it sailed under a different name, and a different captain." He cocked a brow, daring her to contradict him.

"You played your part and you were paid well," she reminded him, stepping forward even closer. He stood nearly a head taller than her. She could feel Rick's eyes on the pair of them, his anger almost palpable.

"Now that, I remember well," Caesar grinned, gaze flicking towards Rick.

This time it was Michonne who held her lover firm. The marketplace around them was crowded with the faces of hundreds of strangers. She was not so naive as to believe that Caesar's men were not hidden among them. Even now she could spy her first mate, Morgan Jones, dressed casually and watching them from behind a pile of jujubees and dates. Rhee was similarly disguised as a merchant nearby. None of them would move without her signal, but she would not risk a brawl in the midst of so many men, women, and children.

"What is it that you want, Caesar?" she asked plainly, eager to be through with the whole charade of polite conversation.

"A simple favor," he raised dark palms in surrender, bowing his head with false humility. "From an old friend to another."

"Nothing is simple with you, Caesar," Michonne remarked. "But out of respect for old times, I will entertain the notion." She released Rick's hand. He brought his own palm back to his side, his sharp blue eyes on her. With a nod, he took a step back, retreating just slightly. Caesar's grin broadened.

"You honor me," he bowed once more.

Michonne said nothing, only began her walk again. Sandaled feet stirred the dust beneath them as she continued through the Tunis streets. The market was a whirlwind for the senses, a mosaic of colors and smells, deep turquoise like the sea beyond, pale like the shells on the beach, bright pinks like coral, gold like the sands. She paid for a handful of figs, Richard's favorite, before turning to her old acquaintance.

"Time has been favorable to you," Caesar observed, his eyes raking over her appreciatively.

Michonne remained unmoved. She adjusted her crimson skirt, tucking the fruit away into the pouch around her waist. Her shoulders were bare to the sun, the trappings of her profession hidden away in favor of bright fabrics and exposed skin.

"You've changed not at all," she retorted.

"Your tastes have shifted somewhat, I see," Caesar could not resist the urge, chancing a glance backwards. Rick's eyes had not strayed from them. "He's a bit wild, no?" Caesar grinned. "I always thought you preferred your men...well, less hairy."

Michonne scoffed inwardly, her mind straying to the feel of Rick's curls between her fingers, of the sounds he made when she tugged at his beard in the throes of their passion. "What I like is none of your concern," she told Caesar plainly.

"Hm," he murmured. "Either way, you have trained him well. Companionship is easy enough to find. Trust though…"

"Do not speak to me of trust," Michonne turned sharp eyes on him.

"Come now, Michonne. Forgive and forget…" he looked amused once more.

She bit her tongue once more. "You have taken enough of my morning, Caesar. Speak plainly now. What is it you want?"

He paused, towering over her. He looked at home here in the marketplace, every bit the warrior he had once been. "Word has reached me of your exploits in the Caribbean. You cannot imagine my pride when I heard what you have become." He fixed dark eyes upon her, an old affection brewing below the surface. "A liberator buccaneer," he remarked, chuckling. "And now you have brought your crusade home."

"You have yet to answer my question," Michonne was not eager to take this stroll down memory lane. She much preferred the company of her lover. Rick made an eager study of Tunis and its customs. They had been deep in the midst of a lesson in the native tongues of Africa when Caesar made his unwanted appearance.

He clucked his tongue now in disapproval. "So impatient always," he imparted in Xhosa. "I must admit, I always admired the quality."

"Caesar…" Michonne sighed.

"Very well," he spoke English once more. "The Lightning has been sighted in these waters."

Michonne's chest constricted. "It is continuing its work then?"

"Aye," something else entered Caesar's tone now, a barely constrained rage. "It has. Word reached my ears of what befell the Governor of Nassau under your hand. I ask for the opportunity to take my own justice."

"The Revenge can sink her easily enough," Michonne calculated.

"It is not enough to sink her," Caesar said. "I want her utterly destroyed so that no one dares return to these waters again."

Michonne considered this. The idea of ravaging the slave trade, the same that had claimed her mother and Caesar himself held much appeal. "What did you have in mind?" she asked.

Caesar's smile returned. "I've talked to Teach. There's a few others who see the opportunity in it. We could take the whole fleet."

"They are willing to risk this? For Africans?" Michonne scoffed. She'd met Edward Teach. She did not much care for his ethical code. Caesar had learned cruelty at Teach's hand. It was a lesson Michonne could do without.

Caesar waved a dismissive palm, letting out a bark of laughter. "His motivations matter not. His guns are all that concern me."

"And what part are you seeking the Revenge to play?" Michonne asked.

Caesar shrugged. "It is not so much the Revenge that I need."

"I will not leave my ship-" Michonne began.

"I would not ask you to," Caesar cut her off. "I would, however, ask you to lend me something."

Michonne narrowed her eyes again. "And what is that?"

"Not so much of a what, but a who…" Caesar turned. Rick remained just in the distance. His attention had seemingly turned towards a jewelry stand. He sifted through the artfully twisted gold and silver bands, looking engaged. The stiffness of his posture betrayed him. Michonne knew what Rick looked like when he was truly at rest. If Caesar were to make any move Rick did not like, she knew her stubborn lover would be at his throat in an instance.

"What do you want with Richard?" Michonne's tone was sharp but she could not contain herself.

The smirk widened. "I hear Richard is a man of certain talents."

"That he is," Michonne confirmed. "I am in the habit of keeping him close for that very reason." Her fingers itched for her sword.

"Do not fret, mpenzi," Caesar chuckled again. "I have no designs on hurting your...pet. What transpired between us happened long ago. It is natural that we should find other comforts."

"I heard you have an island of them," Michonne clipped out. Rumors spread like wildfire, even upon the open seas.

"Is that jealousy?" Caesar questioned.

"It is not," Michonne laughed. "As you said, it was natural to move on."

Caesar rolled his eyes but pressed his point. "I hear your Richard was a navy man. I hear that he has an understanding of how the Europeans work. I must say, after your ordeal I was surprised to hear that you had taken up with a European sailor. How fortunate for me, though."

Michonne sucked her teeth, resolving not to strike him. "I have not agreed to let you have him."

"Borrow," Caesar clarified. "He's much more your type than mine, mpenzi."

"It's Captain," she corrected. "And I will require time to consider what you ask."

"Don't dally, Captain," Caesar cautioned. "Who knows how many hundreds will disappear while you consider."

She inhaled sharply. "You need him to form a battle plan?"

"And to infiltrate their number." Caesar said. "These slavers are tricky. They will not let an African within their ranks. And you and I are too recognizable besides."

"So you would send him?" Michonne asked. Her heart already raced at the possibility. Rick was never hesitant to sprint headlong into danger, a quality that made him an asset as a warrior. It remained a point of constant tension in their more personal dalliance.

"He has risked much for your cause," Caesar shrugged. "What is one more risk?"

A silence grew between them, punctuated only by the bustle of the market around them. Apparently unable to maintain his distance any longer, Rick crossed to them, purchase in hand.

"Captain," he addressed her, ignoring Caesar completely. "I hate to interrupt, but we have a schedule to keep."

She smiled at him, disguising her emotion. "That we do," she turned towards her lover, putting Caesar behind her. "Excuse us," she turned to look over her shoulder.

Caesar was staring at her, a twist to his lips that she knew had to be boiling Rick's blood. "I await your answer, Captain." With a nod, he was gone, disappearing into the crowd. Michonne watched as several men began to wind through the sea of people after him.

A hand to her shoulder called her attention back to the man at her side. "Michonne," Rick leaned in towards her. "Love, are you-"

She turned her head, kissing him gently, delighting in the feel of his mouth against hers. "I'm fine, ntliziyo yam eswiti," she assured him.

"Sweetheart, huh?" he smiled, translating her words. He lifted a necklace for her to inspect it. "I thought this would look nice on you," he added somewhat shyly.

She took in the intricate beadwork, smiling widely at him. "Your lessons are coming along," she remarked, accepting his gift. "You'll be a proper African soon."

He laughed, grinning delightedly when she produced his figs. "About those plans we had…" he began. He popped the fruit into his mouth, his expression sending warmth to the tips of her toes.

"Come," she took his hand, strolling on through the market, forcing all thoughts of Caesar to the back of her mind.

It was late in the afternoon when she collapsed exhaustedly atop Rick. Her flushed body retained its heat under the warm African sunlight streaming through the open window. The hint of a breeze wafted in.

Her lover was face down in their bed, utterly worn out from their exertions. He mumbled something into the pillows, breathing out a contented sigh. A calloused hand reached backwards for her, tightening around her thigh. She stretched out atop him, leaning forward to place a kiss against the shell of his ear.

His skin was a light golden hue, such a contrast to her own, even as exposure to the sun had darkened him well beyond the shade in which he had come to her. Michonne recalled his appearance at their first meeting. He'd been so green then, not much more than a boy playing dress up as a sailor. Pale, and clean-shaven, hesitant and nervous, that young man had little in common with the one who now shared her bed. She traced her hands down the broad expanse of his back, following the ebon symbols that he'd acquired in his time under her charge. Her favorite was his first, a mark administered by her own hand, one to match a tattoo of her own. She kissed it, allowing her lips to linger against his sleep-warmed skin.

"Michonne," he lifted his head to address her. "What did Caesar want?"

Michonne stayed silent, considering the best way to broach the subject. She reached for Rick instead. The curls of his hair had grown even more wild in the last few weeks of leisure, as had his beard. She tugged lightly at both of them, enjoying the silken texture. The crease of the blanket beneath him had left an imprint on his face. She kissed him here as well, enjoying this side of him. In battle, Richard had proved to be a fierce ally, terrifying their enemies nearly as much as she did. He was sight to behold, bearded and wild, ice blue eyes sparkling lethally. Those eyes darkened with something else entirely when it was just the pair of them alone.

"Is Caesar who you would truly like to discuss, mhle?" she teased him in her native tongue. Devilry entered her mind, erasing all thought of leaving their room. She began to move slowly, running her bare leg down his side until she was straddling him, stroking his back absentmindedly. She allowed her hair to spread around them both, fully aware of the effect it had on her love.

"Michonne," he grumbled beneath her, body tightening.

"Yes, Rick?" she asked, leaning forward to press her chest full against his back.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing, love." He twisted his head until his profile was visible.

"And what am I doing?" she questioned, letting her tongue lap out as she kissed his neck.

In answer, he rolled over, a move that never failed to send a sharp thrill racing through her. Her attraction to this wayward former sailor had been immediate, but trust came much slower. Even after she took him into her bed, she had been uneasy. She'd fancied their dalliance was a distraction, a way to relieve tension, an opportunity to amuse themselves. It was not until she'd been captured and imprisoned that she recognized their relationship for what it was.

"You are trying to distract me," he accused, even as his hands began to play across her body.

She laughed. "Caesar is nothing. A relic from the past."

"That I know," Rick growled, biting lightly at her shoulder. "I'm the one in here with you, not him."

She wrestled him, more for mischief than anything, enjoying his surprised huff and sleepy chuckles. In the end, their positions ended up reversed. She lounged comfortably against the pillows, arms captured above her head, legs wrapped around Rick's waist as his mouth ravished every inch of her that he could reach. "He does not compare," she assured him, mind rapidly moving away from thoughts of Caesar.

"Obviously," Rick's ego raised its head. "Still, you have not told me what he wanted."

"I have not," she agreed. In truth, she did not want to think about it, not now.

Rick's brow jumped in surprise. "Do you plan on telling me?" he asked.

"Perhaps…" It was difficult to consider anything besides the hard heat of him pressed between her thighs. "You will have to pry it from me," she challenged.

Rick set upon her immediately, a blur of hands and open-mouthed kisses that left her panting. "Do you yield?" he asked, nipping at her for good measure.

She hissed in pleasure, tightening the vice of her legs. "It'll take more than that, mhle," she teased.

He hid his smile, biting a path down her body. "Stubborn," he muttered affectionately.

She offered no protest as his fingers found her, stroking her with practiced precision. She arched into him, digging her heels into the small of his back.

"Do you like that, love?" his gravelly voice tickled her ear. Teasingly, he brushed his lips across hers before moving quickly away, settling instead to suck at her neck. He was sure to leave a mark, but she did not mind.

"Richard," her tone was less warning and more whining. He laughed again, pleased with himself as she struggled to free her hands.

"Did you need something, Captain?" His lips came close again, even as he sought to take her apart with his fingers. She gasped, body shaking.

"I had a mind to tell you," she kept her voice steady, running her leg up and down his own. "But if you insist on holding me hostage-"

He released her before she finished her sentence, his lips crashing down on hers. She kissed him back soundly, hands wandering. He never made a secret of his pleasure when she touched him, expressing himself with words and sounds that never failed to entice her. She attempted to roll the pair of them over, but he stopped her with a palm to the stomach. She glanced at him questioningly, heat flaring when she spotted the look in his eyes.

"One moment, Captain," he kissed her again for good measure. "I'm not quite finished with you yet."

Her hands found his hair again as he made his way swiftly down her body, all teasing forgotten. His talented mouth replaced his fingers, and rational thought fled her mind.

"Rick," she gasped his name. "Ndiyakuthanda."

He peered up at her, smiling. "I love you too," he assured her before returning to his work.

It was upwards of an hour before they finished again. Michonne laid beneath him, taking comfort in his slow and steady breaths against the side of her face.

"He wants to destroy the entire fleet of slave ships," she whispered.

Rick pulled her more firmly into his arms. "And he needs your help?" he asked quietly.

"He needs yours," she huffed before she could consider the action.

"You don't want me to assist him," it was not a question.

"I do not want you alone with him." Michonne worried her lips between her teeth. Rick reached for her, his fingers threading into the locs of her hair. He twirled a shell between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes on her.

"But you want me to help nonetheless," it again, was not a question.

"Rick…" words were failing her. She had not thought that she and Caesar would ever cross paths again, even as they assumed the same profession. He'd been a recently escaped warrior when they met, tricked into slavery with all of his people. "Caesar helped me acquire the Revenge. He found me, bleeding, half dead after the Governor…" she and Rick had never discussed this, not in all their months together. Whatever Rick knew of her past, he learned from others. "He helped me take her. He showed me how to captain and-" she broke off.

Rick listened quietly. "Do you love him still?" he asked simply.

"No," the answer came easily. Caesar was a wild thing, all anger and passion. He possessed none of the qualities that endeared her to the sweet, fierce man who now shared her bed. She did not miss Caesar once he abandoned her. In his absence, she had flourished into the woman she was now.

Rick looked thoughtful. His calloused thumb rubbed patterns into her bare skin, his grip on her tight. "If I help, how many ships could we sink?" Rick asked.

Michonne shrugged, exhaling. "I think that is what he wants to ask you."

Rick quieted, clearly calculating. "In the summer season?" he mused. "We could take a half dozen, easily."

"He is not to be trusted," Michonne cautioned. Caesar's motives never extended far beyond self-serving pursuits. "His interest in the Lightning is purely for revenge."

Rick chuckled, pulling one of her locs lightly. "I would not make the mistake of trusting him, love," he promised her. "And I will not take my eyes off of him either."

"But you will help?" she asked. Her hand came to his face, cupping his cheek.

He turned his head to kiss her palm. "I will. For the people. And then, I will return to you."

She drew his face to hers, stealing his next breath with a deep kiss. "If you do not, his ship will be the next to meet Davy Jones." She promised Rick this against his lips.

He chuckled. "I have no doubt, love."

"Then we will meet him," she decided. "Tomorrow."

"I suppose I'll have to keep you busy until then," his fingers toyed with the necklace he had bought her, the only stitch of clothing she still wore.

"Aye, sailor," she confirmed on a breathy whisper. "That you will."

Day faded into night, the heat dissipating until Rick drew the blankets up around them. Michonne lay cosseted in his grasp, her body utterly at peace but her mind racing. A sense of dread settled over her, one she had not felt since the Governor had taken her family.

"He will not take you," she whispered into the darkness, laying her hand over Rick's chest. He offered no answer, only rolled closer to her in his sleep.

Michonne watched him, repeating her promise with every beat of his heart underneath her palm.


	5. Buccaneer Banquet

The Queen Anne's Revenge bobbed in the waters of the cove like some great creature of the deep. The moonless night loomed around them, the only light supplied by the torches aboard deck. Their sputtering flames threw great plumes of smoke into the air. The whole of the ship was shrouded in it, as though the ship had risen from the depths of Hades itself.

Teach always did have a flair for the dramatic.

"Lord, you're a theatrical bunch," Rick observed from beside her. Michonne could not entirely fault him for his impression. He'd spent the last hour in her cabin watching her affix jewels and gold into her locs and ears, studiously apply kohl to her eyes, and paint her lips scarlet. He even assisted her in dressing and dutifully allowed her to select his outfit without too much grumbling.

"You're one of us now, Richard," she chided lightly. "Best to not forget that in their presence." The hint of dissention crept into her tone, the aftershocks of a mild argument.

"I let you tattoo me, Captain," Rick reminded her in a low voice, his lips quirked at the corners. "But allowing you to poke holes in me is another matter entirely."

Michonne resisted the urge to smile, keeping her eyes on the ship just ahead of them. Her fight to convince him to don earrings had proved fruitless, but she did not much mind."I must admit, I do prefer you whole and unharmed." She tugged lightly on one of his unadorned ears, just visible beneath his mane of curls.

"I'll do my best to stay that way," he swore to her. He squeezed her hand for good measure before moving off, helping the crew maneuver into the enclosed space.

Everything about the chosen meeting place left Michonne on edge. It was difficult to navigate the shallow warm waters, and would be even more trying to stage an escape if needed. The Revenge was one of the most feared ships on the seas surely, but even she could not compete with the sheer firepower that Teach possessed. Still, there were rules even among thieves. Pirate banquets were to be held at sea.

"Jones," she called for her first mate. He made his way to her side at once. He looked quite sharp in his silks and linens, a contrast to his normal day wear.

"Aye Captain," the great gold chains around his neck clinked together as he moved.

"May I ask something personal of you?" she inquired of her old friend. Absently, she reached out to straighten out one of the thick hoops hanging from him.

"Anything," he responded sincerely. "May I assume this has something to do with Grimes?"

Michonne chuckled lowly. Her first mate had been the only of her crew bold enough to ask her about her affections for Rick, long before their dalliance became common knowledge. She'd stammered in answering him at the time, hastening to assure her most trusted friend that Rick would not become a distraction. Jones had not been fooled, then or now. "Aye that it does," she confirmed. "He may be fierce, but he's green in the ways of pirates. If you could-"

"He won't leave my side, Captan," Jones vowed with a grin. "I see you managed to coerce him into wearing a bit of jewelry." From across the deck, Rick was eyeing the snake-shaped rings wrapping around his fingers as though they were likely to come alive and devour him whole.

"Aye," Michonne exchanged a conspirators' grin with her first mate. "Fought tooth and nail, stubborn man. But no man of mine is attending a buccaneers' banquet underdressed." She toyed with the beads she'd woven into her locs, tucking a stray one back into her complicated coif.

Jones laughed. "Don't know if they'll be able to outdress you, Captain."

Michonne had seized the opportunity to celebrate her heritage, choosing garb in the style of her homeland. The ebon fabric was interwoven with bright indigo, crimson, and orange. It wrapped around her like a second skin. She'd added her belt and sword, large ivory hoops and the necklace Rick had brought her.

As it turned out, Jones was generous in his appraisal of her outfit. The Revenge was not the first ship to arrive. By the time she boarded with her chosen compatriots, the decks of the Queen Anne's were packed. Everywhere she looked there were ostentatious shows of the trappings of piracy. Caesar wore enough finery to make even a king jealous. His crew around him similarly sported silks, linens, jewels, and bright feathers without a hint of shame. Michonne nodded coolly as she passed him, Jones, Rhee, and Rick a half step behind her.

"You know Ceasar already," she could hear Jones explaining to her love and Rhee. "Captain Siddiq from the East is in attendance as well."

Michonne turned her head, eager to get a glimpse. It was no secret that Siddiq was handsome, his genteel manner a rarity among pirates. Even now, he commanded attention while simply standing still. He dressed in bright cream and gold, tunics from his homeland that served as beautiful contrast to his cinnamon brown complexion. The captain offered Michonne a polite smile as she passed, the rubies in his ears glinting.

"It's said his first mate is a British turncoat. Aaron, I believe they call him. You may like him, Grimes." Jones continued with a pointed smirk, spying the curly-headed European behind Siddiq.

Rick snorted, shaking his head. It did not go unnoticed by Michonne though that his eyes were wide and round, hungrily devouring the sights around him. She'd done her best to prepare him, but her command of the English language could not do the spectacle justice. There was nothing that pirates liked so much as showing off for one another.

"Is the Bright Lady here as well?" Rhee asked eagerly. He scanned the crowd, clearly searching.

"I sent word myself," Michonne glanced at the young man, "I expect her Captains will be here presently. And their first mate."

Rhee blushed bright scarlet but did nothing to disguise his excitement. Michonne smiled fondly at him. "No more of that now," she chided. "We are entering a conference of the most feared ruffians on the earth. Do your best to look the part, will you?"

In unison, Rick, Jones, and Rhee all flattened out their expressions. Michonne nodded in approval.

"Be alert," she cautioned, stepping into the midst of the fray.

A large, hand-carved table had been brought aboard and now sat affixed in the center of the deck. The torch light was brighter here, casting shadows upon the polished wooden surface. It was a work of art really, hand-carved to depict the most fearsome of the Queen Anne's triumphs. Michonne's eye twitched just to look at it. Modesty was not common in her profession.

"Captain Michonne," the captain of the vessel greeted her. He was not a tall man, but what he lacked in stature he made up for in pure panache. His ebon hair was affixed as though for battle, the long beard styled into sharp points. Michonne could smell the hemp from her place in front of him. The smoke curled out of the tendrils of his facial hair. She knew that it struck fear into the heart of merchants and sailors alike to simply lay eyes on this man. For her part, the novelty had long since abated.

"Blackbeard," she greeted evenly, offering a slight tilt of her head. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"My pleasure, as always," he reached for her hand. She allowed it, suppressing her shudder at the rough whiskers on his face as he kissed it. "The company is more beautiful for you being here."

She took her hand back, resting it above her sword on her waist. "That flattery is best saved for the latecomers," she said.

He smiled, a devilish grin, devoid of any real warmth. "You cannot fault me for trying." His dark eyes turned to her crew. "Though Caesar tells me that you are spoken for." He looked over Jones, Rhee, and Rick in turn. Michonne was not so naive as to believe that Teach did not know exactly who her consort was, nor was she in any hurry to introduce them.

"Does he?" Michonne asked lightly. "I should think that Caesar has more to occupy his time than gossiping about me like an old fishwife." She tossed a look at the man-in-question.

Caesar looked amused more than chastised. "Come now, Michonne. What kind of friend would I be if I did not seek to learn about the man who has enchanted you so?" he turned his wolfish grin on Rick. Rick only raised a brow.

"What kind of friend, indeed?" Michonne wondered aloud.

"Don't fret, fair Michonne," Teach spoke again. "We shall take great care of your love."

"If I agree to let you borrow him," she responded, tossing her locs over one shoulder. The decision was ultimately Rick's, but Michonne would play the part of captain in present company.

"We will do our best to convince you then. You recall that Caesar and I made quite the formidable duo." Teach laughed. Caesar joined him. Michonne resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Together, these two had laid waste to entire towns. Their bloodlust was a trait she did not share.

She was saved from having to respond by the appearance of the Bright Lady. The scarlet ship emerged out of the darkness, swift and silent as ever it was. Two women stood at the helm. They were both younger than Michonne, barely more than children, bold and brash. Michonne enjoyed their company immensely. In pirate fashion, they arrived with bells on. Petticoats and skirts had been modified for battle and affixed with all manner of weapons. Though she preferred the simplicity of her own sword and breeches, Michonne had to admit that the effect was striking.

"I hope that you did not get started without us," the Captain Sasha announced. Her hair was free and wild, the curls illuminated by flickering torch light. She stepped aboard, dripping in jewels, her skirts swishing beneath her.

"We would not dream of it," Teach feigned shock. He stepped forward to greet them. His former crewman was less forgiving.

"Though you could try to be punctual," Caesar snorted.

"Now, Caesar," the Captain Rosita stepped forward, reaching for his chin with a ring laden hand. "You know it takes time to doll ourselves up for you." She winked. Caesar grinned. Michonne exchanged knowing eye contact with both new arrivals, suppressing a smirk. Men were easily distracted.

"Are we ready to begin?" Siddiq, captain of the Shiqq, stepped forward. Rosita's attention immediately shifted.

"Aye," Sasha responded. "Business before pleasure tonight, is it?"

"As always," Caesar, bowed, casting a sly look in Michonne's direction.

She ignored it, opting instead to take her seat at the table. Her men flanked her, as did the other captains'. Siddiq's first mate stood stoically by his side, a pale face in a sea of brown. Caesar's men surrounded him beside Teach and his men. Sasha and Rosita's first mate, a fiery green-eyed lass, led the group of women from aboard the Bright Lady. It took much maneuvering, but eventually the pirates from all four corners of the world came to attention.

"Well, Blackbeard," Siddiq began in his steady cadence. "Why have you called us here?"

"We have a proposition for you," it was Caesar who answered, his baritone voice echoing over the shallow waters of the cove. "You all know that these waters are rich in plunder."

A murmur went up at this, a low chuckle as the pirates around them tittered in excitement.

"There's sugar, rum, silks-" Blackbeard listed, looking towards Siddiq and his crew. "Gold and silver, and cannons," he glanced towards Sasha and Rosita, "but the largest plunder is-"

"Slaves," Caesar's voice held no humor. He met Michonne's eyes across the table. Her heart ached with a familiar clench, the burden of the common history between them.

The crowd settled at once, perhaps fearful of the largest among them. It was no secret how Caesar had come to the Americas, a fierce warrior duped into boarding the Lightning. A crewmate had taken pity upon him and, upon arriving to Florida, Caesar and his fellow tribesmen were able to fight and flee. It was an old wound that did not heal easily.

"You all know what Captain Michonne and the Revenge have been able to achieve. The Governor of Nassau dead, a dozen ships sunk, an escape from death- all in under two years. A remarkable feat," Blackbeard's flattery fell on Michonne, along with every eye aboard.

She raised her chin, speaking up. "We are willing to save more," she said plainly. "For a price." This was not the audience in which to appear pius. Pirates did nothing for free.

"Naturally," Blackbeard nodded. "The Queen Anne will contribute guns and men, for the love we bear for our former first mate," he turned towards Caesar. The darker of the pair made no acknowledgment. He was lost in a sea of his own mind, brooding as only he could. Teach remained unbothered. "Who else will join the cause?" he posed the question.

Sasha spoke immediately. "What would you require from the Bright Lady?"

"She is the fastest of all of us," Michonne addressed her old friend. "I would ask that you bear the people to safety."

Sasha exchanged a measured look with her co-captain. Rosita spoke. "It is a great risk, to attack so many ships so quickly. Surely one will alert the others."

"Not if we attack at the same time," Caesar cut her off. "The Revenge, the Queen Anne, and my ship, the Warrior, will attack at once from three sides. The Shiqq and the Bright Lady will come once they've been crippled. We will take the plunder, and each head our own way. By the time the Crown knows, the ships will be at the bottom of the sea." He sounded as though he could scarcely wait to see it.

"What of the watch?" Siddiq asked. "They will not leave their fleet unguarded."

"That is where Michonne's man will be instrumental," Blackbeard said. "If she acquiesces, of course."

A silence spread across the ship. Michonne refused to be the one who broke. She longed to look towards Rick, to speak to him about how he perceived this proposed plan. Resolutely, she kept her eyes forward.

"What makes this man so special?" Rosita asked, brow raised.

"He served in the Navy," it was Teach who answered. "He has a deep understanding of how the Crown works."

"So we are to hinge the success of our plan on a turncoat?" Sasha spoke up. "I do not mean to offend, but that does not inspire trust."

"Nor does a group of pirates," it was Siddiq who countered. "And you may find, Captain Sasha, that a turncoat can prove most useful." He tilted his head towards his first mate.

"Perhaps we let him speak for himself," Caesar suggested. "Unless Captain Michonne objects?" He met her eyes across the table, daring her to deny him.

"Richard," Michonne turned towards her lover, gesturing. "Educate them," she swept her hand around the table.

Rick stepped forward, humor barely restrained on his face. Michonne cupped her chin with a jewelry-laden hand, looking up at him while he spoke.

"British ships have taken to sailing in fleets since the Revenge started her mission. Captain Michonne has proven to be too much for them to defend against alone. The natural move is to join together. Still, even in a fleet, there would only be one watchman a night, on the head ship. I could be that watchman."

"And the position is open?" Rosita scoffed lightly.

"It will be." Caesar did nothing to disguise the threat in his words. Michonne almost pitied the man who would fall to the business end of his dagger.

"And you know enough to join?" Sasha asked Rick. She was staring at him interestedly, as though she'd never quite seen a man like him before.

"I do," Rick said simply.

Michonne addressed the group. "Richard has knowledge of slavers and sailors alike. If he says he can achieve something, do not doubt him." There was not a more stubbornly dedicated man on Earth. He'd moved hell and highwater to save her from the noose, argued passionately to protect her, even at the threat of being removed from the ship. She had seen him level scores of fighters to protect Jones, Rhee, herself. Once his mind was set, it was set.

"Then the Shiqq will join your cause," Siddiq announced. "In exchange for any silks and spices aboard."

"The Bright Lady as well," Sasha spoke.

"But we lay claim to any weapons to be found," Rosita added.

"Well, Michonne?" Caesar looked across the table at her again. "Will the Revenge help?"

Michonne glanced up at Rick. He was staring at Caesar coolly, as though he was not agreeing to risk life and limb for a man he cared not a bit about. "Aye," she said slowly. "If all slaves come into our possession, and any currency to be found aboard, the Revenge will fight."

"Then we have an accord," Blackbeard clapped his hands delightedly. "Shall we toast on it?"

A young man rushed eagerly to the table, bearing a tray of large mugs. With a flourish, he distributed them, blushing as he sat one in front of Michonne. In unison, they all lifted their grog, the alcohol sloshing as they sealed their agreement with a toast.

All pretense of formality evaporated as more grog was distributed. The pirates from all five ships were eager to partake, gulping the rum drink down with panache. Michonne sipped hers more conservatively, watching the others over the top of her cup. Siddiq's first mate, Aaron, produced a violin from his ship. Other musicians joined the fray with makeshift instruments, until the whole of the cove seemed to reverberate with the sounds of their merrymaking.

Rosita and Sasha led the dancing, much to the delight of every man aboard. They partnered together, turning a spirited jig around where the table had once sat. Michonne noted that Rhee wasted no time in staking his claim on their first mate. The lovely green-eyed lass was now laughing brightly as Rhee spun her to the music. Morgan retrieved his cello from the Revenge and was in the midst of things, attempting to goad Rick into singing.

Rick laughed, waving his friend off in favor of walking towards her instead. He occupied the previously empty space at her side in an instance.

"You did well, mhle," she greeted him, knocking her mug against his in salute.

He blushed just a bit, the tips of his ears darkening under her praise. "It's not the most trusting of crowds," he observed.

Michonne shrugged. "Pirates," she laughed lightly. "Slow to trust, quick to drink."

Around them, the five crews were dedicated to merriment, mixing and blending until she lost sight of most of her own men. Sasha and Rosita's crew of women was causing quite the stir as the other ships jockeyed to speak to them all in turn. More than a few of the men had already began to disappear into dark corners with one another. Emboldened perhaps by the frivolity around them, Rick snaked his arm around Michonne's waist.

"Ubonakala umhle," he whispered into her ear. Michonne shivered at the compliment.

"You look very handsome yourself," she tugged at his beard, "and your pronunciation is getting better," she complimented.

"I have a skilled teacher," he teased. His facial hair tickled the side of her cheek, sending another tremor through her.

"Richard…" she warned. Perhaps the other captains could afford the luxury of such public intimacy, but Michonne was weary.

"You aren't the only captain here with a lover," he pointed out. He tipped his glass in the direction of the others. Teach had some lass or another on his arm, Sasha and Rosita were much too close to claim simple friendship, and Siddiq was dancing with what seemed to be a never-ending queue of admirers. Caesar was the only one standing apart. He was nursing his drink and a deep scowl, staring off into the darkness at something unknown.

Michonne reached for Rick's hand, threading their fingers. "You aren't just a lover, mhle," she reminded him. She kissed his whiskered cheek. "But I cannot keep you all to myself. You must earn their trust."

He considered this, his hands still around her waist. "Fair enough," he admitted. He took a pull of his grog, draining the cup before he spoke again. "Captain," he snapped to attention, taking her hand as though she was a proper English gentlewoman. "Would you honor me with a dance?"

She laughed despite herself, gracing him with a mockery of a courtesy. "The honor would be mine, sir."

He led her to the floor, spinning her expertly, years of lessons culminating in smooth motions. Michonne followed easily, kicking up her skirt. Someone let out a delighted shout.

"Jones," she called to her first mate, "Play something spirited, if you would?"

Jones grinned broadly, gesturing for Aaron to join him. The two started up a lively tune. The surrounding pirates took up the words, singing boisterously. Within moments, others joined them, spinning and twirling in drunken glee. Michonne allowed herself a moment of levity, laughing as Rick swung her around, his hands around her waist, his cheek pressed to hers as he pulled her in.

"I don't know this song," he admitted on a chuckle. The pirates around them were still roaring out the lyrics.

"I'll teach you," she promised, kissing him briefly. With difficulty, she let him go, watching as he was swept into the crowd. Jones called him towards the musicians, demanding that Rick sing for them. Another mug of grog was pressed into his hands. He joined them, pausing only to wink at her before he allowed himself to be placed center stage.

"I can see why you have some affection for him," Caesar's baritone voice startled her out of her observations.

Irritated, she turned to her old consort. "Can you?" she asked, straightening her skirt.

"He's handsome, sure enough, if you enjoy that sort of thing." Caesar rose to her challenge, tilting his head as he studied Rick. "Bold, somewhat intelligent. He can carry a tune." Caesar turned dark eyes on her. "But he does not know you as I do."

Michonne snorted, an unladylike sound. "And what is it you think you know of me?"

Caesar's smile grew wider still. "You may fancy your play thing for now, mpzeni. But remember, the world does not take as kindly to your romance as pirates do."

"It is fortunate that we are both pirates then," Michonne retorted, ready to move away.

Caesar caught her by the wrist. "He's European, Michonne. And one day, he will be asked to choose between the life he was raised in, and this life he lives only for you. I wonder then, if you will be enough for one another."

She jerked away, pulling her hand back and laying it upon her sword. "Our relationship concerns you in no way," she hissed between clenched teeth. "But if any harm befalls him in your presence, Caesar, I will make it your concern."

"You threaten me?" he looked genuinely surprised.

"I promise you," Michonne vowed. She left him then, striding away, back into the sea of dancers. Rick spotted her immediately. He shrugged off the disappointed jeers as he left with gracious smiles.

"Duty calls," he apologized, inspiring another bawdy round of laughter. Michonne reached for him, taking his hand. They fought their way out of the crowd, enduring the teasing of the other captains around them. Rick's smile fell as they stepped out of sight of the others. "Michonne, are you all right?"

She kissed him deeply, pulling him against her. Rick did not miss a beat. His hands were on her in a second, fueled by the alcohol he'd consumed. Her back hit the wall of one of the cabins on deck. She was tempted to indulge her desire right within a stone's throw of the others, but found her wits.

"I don't want to take you away from the celebrations," her lips fluttered against Rick's as she spoke.

He pulled her more fully into his arms, "Please, love," he dropped to his knees theatrically. "Take me away."

She laughed loudly, her giggles escalating as his hands wandered liberally. "As dramatic as a pirate," she observed.

He grinned brightly. "I'm learning," he said, standing and picking her up for effect.

She allowed herself to be carried away from the Queen Anne across the gangway to the Revenge. The music faded slightly, a low thrum in the background. Rick lowered her to the wooden planks of the empty deck, keeping his hold around her.

"Dance with me, love," he requested.

Michonne wound her arms around his neck, tucking her chin against his shoulder. Rick held her, spinning them slowly, a comfortable silence growing between them. She could feel the light thrumming of his heart against her chest. She dragged her hand between them, laying a palm over it.

"Rick," she whispered his name. He turned his head, pressing his lips to her temple. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything," he dipped her just to hear her laughter.

She laughed breathlessly, coming to look him in the eye. Nervously, she fiddled with the jewelry on her fingers. "I know that you did not come aboard the Revenge completely of your own volition…"

He paused, sensing her change in tone. He slowed their dance until they simply rocked together. He cupped her face, running the calloused surface over her chin. She leaned into his caress.

"I wanted to ask you," she stammered, heart hammering. "Would you remain aboard if…" she faltered again, unsure how to phrase her emotions.

"Michonne," Rick paused their dance completely to grasp her face fully. "It does not matter what led me to you. What matters is that I am by your side."

She swallowed thickly, her face warming. "Then perhaps...you would honor me by choosing to remain here." She fiddled with a simple gold band around her thumb, sliding it off easily. "If you would have me, I-"

Rick surprised her by beginning to laugh, his eyes dropping to the ring in her hand. "Love," he began, pulling away from her to reach into his pocket. He drew out a idzila. The large copper rings circled one another in an orderly row. He held it up for her inspection. "I got it in the market that day. But it seems you're always a step ahead of me," he chuckled.

She watched in confusion until he dropped to his knee for the second time that night, the jewelry held up and outwards toward her.

"Michonne," he began, "unganditshata?" His accent was rough around the words, but her heart leapt nonetheless.

"Rick…" she began to laugh through her sudden onset of nerves, "How did you-"

"Jones said in Zimbabwe, women wear these when they give themselves to another…" Rick looked uncertain for a moment. "There were much larger ones. Some looked like they would come up to your chin. I thought you might prefer the simpler one. Perhaps to wear around your wrist."

Michonne held up the ring in her hand, "Rhee said men in Europe wear these," she smiled. "I thought perhaps you would honor me by wearing it."

"Well," Rick's grin split his face in two. "Should we trade then?"

She nodded, offering her trinket. He slid it snugly on his left hand, beaming up at her. "Your arm?" he asked, still on his knee.

She reached out for him, allowing him to slide the ringed bracelet up her wrist. It was warm to the touch, having spent the whole of the evening hiding inside Rick's pocket.

"It's official, then," she said with difficulty. Her heart had seemingly moved into her throat. "We belong to one another."

He stood. Without pause, he stole her breath with another lingering kiss. "It's not official yet," he whispered, his mouth pressed to her neck. Her body responded as he hardened against her.

"So take me to bed," she instructed, rolling her hips against his. "And make it official."

He seized the opportunity at once, lifting her into his arms and starting off towards their cabin in one motion. She laughed delightedly as he all but kicked the door open and shut again. The sound of the buccaneer banquet faded to a dull roar. Rick lowered her to the floor, pressing her back against the hardwood as he surged forward, kissing her.

Rick's hands fumbled almost frantically at her clothing as he struggled to unwind the colorful fabric caught between them. Michonne bit playfully at his shoulder, drawing a tortured groan from him.

"Need assistance?" she asked, trying and failing to hide her amusement.

"Captain," he pulled back to observe her. His pupils were dilated and there was a wild quality to his expression that sent heat rushing directly between her legs. "You need to take this off," he instructed in a borderline growl, "before I rip it off."

His command drew an appreciative moan from her lips, one that only served to increase his fervor. Michonne quickly removed her skirt, allowing it to pool at her feet. Rick tugged his shirt away and tossed it. His belt was the next to go in rapid succession. Michonne watched, eyes darkening. He seized her around the waist, lifting her until he could yank her skirt free.

He fell to his knees before her again. Michonne lifted her leg. He kissed first the curve of her ankle before maneuvering his hand over her calf and up her thigh. He pressed kisses along her skin, leaving chills in his wake.

"Rick…" Michonne's fingers scrambled at the wood of the door before twisting into his thick mane of curls. "Ndiyakufuna," she babbled in a mix of Xhosa and English. "I want-"

He cut her off, seizing her hands and coming to his feet. In one motion, he spun her around, pressing her hands palm down to the door. His arms were around her waist in seconds, his chest pressed flush to her back.

Her world narrowed down to him in one frantic moment, a clash of hands, lips, tongues, until she was dizzy. He guided her to their bed, falling on her ravenously. Michonne pressed her face into the pillows, curled her hands into the sheets, and thanked God that her crew was far out of earshot as Rick dismantled every bit of her carefully crafted self control.

"I love you," he reminded her, leaning forward to kiss her.

She meant to respond that she loved him too, but suddenly he was inside of her and coherent thought proved impossible. Rick tugged her backwards against him, setting a pace that left her reeling. She chanced a glance back at him over her shoulder. Her love was flushed, consumed with her alone. He met her eyes and offered her a lopsided grin. His calloused fingers found her again and she collapsed face down, powerless and unwilling to do anything but accept the pleasure he inflicted upon her.

"Rick," she groaned out his name. He chuckled, but she could not find it in herself to be irritated. He pulled her up, cradling her against his chest.

"Want me to stop, Captain?" he teased.

She reached backwards, tugging at his hair. She was rewarded with a low moan from her lover. "No," she told him, turning her neck to kiss him. "Don't stop."

Rick, as always, eagerly complied.


	6. Battle of the Fleet

Michonne had always drawn comfort from the warm, salty waters of the sea. As a child, she'd splashed through the shallows with her sister, learned to fish off the shoals with her mother. The sea was sustenance, it was safety, it was freedom. The Governor had come by land, destroying and burning as he marched, determined to steal that freedom, to shackle her people once more. Her mother had died fighting, as had her sister, but Michonne- bleeding and slashed open halfway down her back- had escaped. She'd run to the water and the ocean welcomed her. It swept her to safety, away from the carnage, bearing her to a nearby port. From that moment on, the sea was her home. There was not a day when she considered returning to the dry land, to the world where her people were oppressed, where she would be subjected to endless restrictions based on the color of her skin and her gender. Like a mother, the sea protected her.

She submerged herself now, allowing the warm water to saturate her. It was quiet this morning and she was glad for it, relishing in the solitude. The sun was not yet up, but Michonne had been awake for hours, drawn from bed by a nightmare. It had been years since a night terror the likes of this had seized her. She'd awoken shaking, flushed, in a cold sweat, tears clinging to her lashes. The dream itself was nothing new, a retread of old horrors, of watching her family die, her village be destroyed, of dragging herself away, smoke clinging to her hair, sand burning the gash on her back. Her traitorous mind had added a new element.

A splash nearby drew her attention. She turned as quickly as she was able to in the inky indigo waters, watching as a figure cut their way towards her. Her feet stirred the sandy bottom as the figure turned a half circle around her beneath the surface. Hands found her, warm and comforting. A moment later, her husband emerged.

"Here you are," he remarked simply.

She mustered a smile, taking in the man beside her. Even fresh from sleep, she found him unbearably charming, his crooked grin and blue eyes sparkling at her as though she were the only thing in the world he wished to see. Droplets fell from the thick tendrils of his hair and beard. She reached for him, allowing him to pull her into his arms.

"Here I am," she echoed quietly, laying her head on his shoulder.

He held her, palm flat against her back, his fingers tracing the scar that stood raised against her skin. "A nightmare?" he asked quietly. He'd seen a few in his time in her bed. At the beginning of her dalliance, she'd taken comfort in sending him away, unwilling to share that pain with another, content to simply succumb to exhaustion and dreamless rest. Since deciding to share her cabin, Rick never seemed to mind shouldering the burden. He woke with her most instances, murmuring some old lullaby in her ear until she fell asleep once more.

"I dreamed you died." The words escaped her in a rush.

Rick's arms tightened around her. "How did it happen?"

"The Governor," she sighed. She had killed that man, spilled his blood across the decks of his cursed ship, and still he would not give her peace.

Rick hummed lowly in his throat, a sound of acknowledgment. "You are afraid then?" he asked.

She held him tighter still. "I wish I was not," she admitted.

"Tell me," he requested, dipping them below the water further to stave off the cool morning breeze. The sun was beginning to emerge, slowly, as though it too was reluctant to begin the day.

Michonne swallowed down the lump in her throat. "You are all that is left to me," she said. "Blackbeard and Caesar are a treacherous bunch. They would betray you at the earliest turn. Or suppose you are found out aboard the slaver. Suppose you cannot get away once the attack begins, or-"

He silenced her with a kiss, sweet and simple. "I am afraid every time we enter battle," Rick told her, lips still brushing her skin. "Every time you leave the ship without me. Every moment you are out of my sight, I am afraid." he kissed her head. "But you always return to me, love. And I will return to you."

"You cannot promise me that," the tears fell now, joining with the rest of the saltwater around them.

Rick cupped her chin. "I would move hell and highwater to get back to you, wherever you are. Even if the plan goes to hell, we will get the people to safety." He kissed her again. "We've beat the odds before, love. We're survivors."

The sun began to rise in earnest, the coral-colored light throwing shadows on her husband's face. Michonne seized their last private moment together, kissing him with a passion he was eager to reciprocate. Her fingers found the band on his left hand and she held to it.

"We survive," she echoed.

The sun rose around them, the rays of light dancing off the low waves. Her day would begin soon, and she would be back at sea, back to the profession that granted her so much freedom. Even so, she sat contently and quietly in the water with Rick.

Hours later found them in the marketplace bidding one another farewell.

Michonne pressed the rifle into Rick's hands, along with a bag of powder. "Keep it close, mhle," she instructed, "and out of sight."

He stowed it away with a nod, hiding it beneath his faded indigo shirt. He looked less the pirate today and more the merchant, his jewelry stowed safely inside their shared cabin along with his rapier. The only sign of his service aboard the Revenge that still adorned him was the simple gold band on his left hand.

"Don't take your eye off Caesar until you're safely away," Michonne reminded him. "It will take three nights before the fleet will be in position. Stay sharp."

To his credit, Rick did not admonish her for her repeated instructions. Instead he offered her a bracing smile. "Once I spot your sails, I'll make my way back to you, Captain." He looked relaxed, as though he walked into the belly of the beast often. Michonne admired him for a moment. He had come so far since he first boarded her ship. She scarcely recognized him at all.

"I love you," she told him, reaching for his hand.

Rick caught it, drawing her in. "Ndiyakuthanda," he echoed.

She leaned forward and he met her, kissing her soundly. Michonne allowed herself this last moment of intimacy, committing it all to memory. Her ship was just offshore, hidden away, waiting for her captain. The coming days would be difficult, the plan precarious, the stakes high.

She would not fail.

The market came alive around them, the merchants, farmers, barters, and shoppers pouring in steadily, bustling around the couple. Reluctantly, Michonne released her husband.

"Go," she instructed gently. Caesar was standing a few meters away, waiting expectantly.

Rick bent to kiss her hands before letting her go. "I'll see you soon, love," he promised her. Without another word, he hiked his pack onto his shoulder and made his way towards Caesar. The warrior pirate watched, his expression unreadable. Michonne met his eyes across the space between them. Caesar stared back, unperturbed, his gaze moving to the jewelry now adorning her arm. Without a word to her, he greeted Rick then turned, moving off with her husband in tow. Michonne watched until they were lost to her, hidden by the crowds and the stalls and the colors of the marketplace.

"Captain," Jones drew her back to the here and now, his voice gentle. "We should begin our part in all of this."

Michonne turned to her friend, nodding, She could not afford distraction right now, not even for Rick. "To sea then," she smiled at her first mate, a familiar thrill rushing through her.

Jones smiled back. "To sea," he agreed.

The days passed quickly despite her worries, the familiar labors of love keeping her sane. The Revenge maneuvered slowly into position, it's cannons oiled, pistols at the ready, swords sharpened for the fight. Somewhere, the other captains were doing the same, a comfort to Michonne. Perhaps Teach and Caesar could not be trusted but Siddiq, Sasha, and Rosita were cut from a different kind of cloth. If they succeeded, they could cripple the mechanism of slavery for years. It was the victory that she had hoped for, one she had dreamed of.

Still, the unease would not dissipate.

Her cabin felt emptier now, her bed larger. She used to relish in the solitude of this space, the trappings of her own command. Now, she found herself longing for the man who too often cuddled her in his sleep, who was prone to snoring from time to time, who enjoyed talking late into the night. It was almost comical that she would be laying awake, disturbed by this newfound quiet. She wondered whether Rick was sleeping well aboard the ship he was on.

"Today is the day," Rhee was positively sprightly the morning of the third day. He had a contagious sort of joy about him, an innocence that would not be tarnished no matter what atrocities he encountered. Michonne enjoyed his presence, his ever-straight moral compass. She wondered perhaps, if it was time to free the boy who had become a young man under her watchful eye. Rhee deserved the chance at a normal life, deserved to take his idealism and begin a journey of his own.

"Aye," she clapped his shoulder bracingly.

"There should be half a dozen ships today," Rhee continued on. "Hundreds freed, Captain." he grinned at her. "We can really change things."

Michonne brightened. "Perhaps we shall take a break of sorts when this ends. Take a moment to gather our breath. Perhaps the Bright Lady would join us."

Rhee's grin widened. "Mayhaps you and Rick could take a honeymoon," he suggested.

Michonne raised a brow. She had not doubt that the whole of the crew had noticed her idzila and Rick's ring. No one had the courage to raise the issue.

"Perhaps," she acquiesced, hiding her smile. "But first, we have ships to sink. Do me a favor, Rhee, and see that the men are ready," she requested.

The Revenge laid in wait, breath baited as the day slipped away. The sun retired beneath the horizon and the stars began to rise. Michonne prayed for a cloudy night, prayed for the cover of darkness. Most of all, she prayed for Rick and the people, huddled together aboard a fleet of slavers. She stood at the helm, eyes trained into the darkness.

"Move slowly," she instructed. Her crew complied. The Revenge edged forward on the dark seas. The cluster of British ships came into view, bright and beautiful, the pride of the Navy. Michonne could scarcely wait to see them destroyed.

"The Queen Anne will attack first," she reminded Jones. Michonne did not prefer this method, but there was no denying that Teach had the upperhand in striking fear into the hearts of sailors. "We will follow quickly. Jones, you assist Rick. Rhee, you get the people to the Bright Lady. We will sink the flagship first, then the rest."

They all nodded, swords in hand. An unnatural calm settled over the seas. Michonne waited, watching.

The first boom of the cannon set her adrenaline rushing.

"Ukuhlasela!" she shouted. The Revenge lurched forward at once, guns blazing. Gunpowder and salt water filled the air along with the familiar sounds of battle. Michonne threw herself into the fray, rushing across the deck of her ship to join the war aboard the decks of the slavers. The sailors and merchants alike were sleepy, caught off guard, but they recovered quickly. She cut down half a dozen before she managed to catch sight of the Warrior and the Queen Anne's Revenge.

"Captain!" Jones shouted for her and Michonne reacted instinctively, ducking as a shot whizzed over her head. Her first mate took out the sailor who fired his rifle, knocking him unceremoniously into the sea below.

"Jones," she called back. Time was of the essence.

"I'm on my way, Captain," Jones was already in motion, cutting through the battle and heading for the flagship. Rhee joined him, shadowing his food steps, protecting and attacking in turn. With a leap, they cleared the distance between the Revenge and one of the slave ships. Rick was waiting on the other side. He winked at Michonne from his place meters away, grinning as though they were at a party and not mid-fight.

She blew him a kiss for good measure, spinning to push another few sailors overboard. The Bright Lady and the Shiqq made themselves known, flanking the fleet. The slavers at last seemed to realize they were out matched. In scores, they began to give up, abandoning ship or dropping their weapons, attempting to negotiate a surrender. Michonne let Jones handle the details, instead focusing her efforts on what she had come for.

"Captain," Rick greeted her, looking for all the world like the cat that caught the canary. He held up a large ring of kings. "Care to do the honors?"

Michonne took them with a smile, opening the gate to the lower decks without delay. At once, she dipped inside, steeling herself for what she knew awaited her. The smell was terrible down here, a stench of rot and suffering. In the dark, she could make out the forms of hundreds of people, packed together and chained, some naked, some bleeding, mostly shivering.

"Yiza nama," she announced, her voice echoing through the cramped quarters, "ndize kunye nokhululekile." She reached down for the woman nearest her, drawing her to her feet. She was not more than a girl, thin and terrified. Michonne offered her a reassuring smile. "ukhuselekile ngoku," she assured her, directing her towards the door.

Slowly, steadily, the other stolen people rose to their feet, filing out of the door and above the deck. Jones and Rhee had cleared a path for them. Michonne watched as her crew guided their new charges from the sinking ship, past the sailors and slavers who had imprisoned them.

"Well done, mpenzi," Caesar appeared suddenly, looming above the crowd. He was eyeing the slavers with a predatory look. Michonne knew that their comeuppance would be swift and decisive.

"Captain," Rick spoke up, "There are double the number of people we anticipated."

Michonne processed this, thinking quickly. "Siddiq," she turned to the captain of the Shiqq.

"We will take them," he answered before she could pose the question. His men were already mobilizing, stripping the ships around them of their valuables. The world became a blur of movement, pirates ravening through the half dozen ships anchored in a group, the pitiful screams and pleas of the crews as they realized what their fate was to be, and the pops of gunpowder in the distance as the fight came to a definitive end. Michonne ignored it all in favor of focusing on getting the people now in her charge to safety.

"Rick," she turned to her husband, "How many more are aboard?"

"A few hundred, at least," he answered. For the first time since the battle began, she could see the weariness behind his eyes. While her three days had been spent in worrying and planning, his had been aboard a ship imprisoning hundreds. The sounds of their suffering could not be disguised, not even by the sea. He had to play the part of a person without empathy.

"We will save them," she reached for his hand, observers be damned. "Will you release those aboard the other ships?"

"I will," he smiled at her.

"Then come home," she instructed, she squeezed his hand, kissing the bruised knuckles. The thought of having her warrior husband back home was enough to sustain her to get through the rest of this terrible ordeal.

"Captain," a deep voice drew them from their moment. Caesar stood behind them, looking distressed. "There is more work yet to be done," he reminded them.

"I'll return soon," Rick kissed her forehead. "Ready?" he asked Caesar.

The larger man nodded. "Shall we?" he asked, sword at the ready. Jones joined them, rushing away to finish their work.

Michonne spared a moment to watch them board the ship beyond before turning back to the Revenge. She reboarded her ship after the last of the people was safely on deck. From the prow, she could spy Siddiq on one side and Sasha and Rosita on the other.

"To the meeting place then?" she asked. The trio nodded.

"We'll see you there," Rosita affirmed. She and Sasha both were flushed , exhilarated from the fight. Behind them, a hundred African faces peered back, some in confusion, some in terror, but more so in a joyful wonder.

The cannon blast shook the Bright Lady, sending them all spiraling to the deck. Michonne's head whipped around, her sword at the ready, wondering what sailor had managed to catch them all off guard.

The Queen Anne's Revenge had fired on them, and was preparing to fire again. As it was, they had maneuvered center fleet and were shooting at the pirate ships on both sides. The slavers took advantage of the surprise attack, lurching into action. At once, the fight was on once more. They focused all of their wrath upon the Warrior, crippling her in the waters. Michonne watched in horror as a cheer went up from their enemy and as Caesar's ship began to sink slowly.

She began shouting orders, yelling for Siddiq and Sasha and Rosita to flee, to get the people to safety. She looked wildly for her own crew, searching for Jones and Rhee and Rick.

"Captain!" Jones called to her, yelling from the deck of a nearby ship. He pointed frantically.

Michonne followed his finger to be met with the sight of Rick and Caesar both rushing headlong into the fight, dead set on boarding the Queen Anne. Blackbeard's pirates were fighting to reclaim the last few Africans, attempting to round them up. Rage flooded Michonne at once.

Rick was there first, fighting them off, knocking slavers and pirates overboard. Caesar seemed to be running people through indiscriminately, his anger palpable. From the midst of the fray, Blackbeard emerged, smiling as though this was all some form of amusement to them. He crept upon his old crewmate in the darkness, intent on running him through.

Rick spotted him and gave a shout, shoving Caesar out of the way of the treacherous sword. Teach fell on him at once, fighting Rick instead. His smile faded as her husband proved to be a much more powerful adversary than he suspected. He gave a shout, drawing the British sailors to him.

"Rick!" Michonne yelled for her husband, rushing across the deck. She prepared to dismount, but was caught around the waist by her first mate.

"Captain, if they take you, there is no chance of us winning," he reminded her, his voice distressed. "Escape now. Save him later. We've planned for this."

Logically, Michonne knew this, though she found it harder to accept when it was Rick on the chopping block and not herself. She watched him fight for all he was worth, putting himself between the sailors and the soon to be free captive. He was shouting something she could not hear, though Caesar apparently got the message. He pushed himself to his feet and led the charge in the opposite direction, clearing the path for their escape.

Rick did not follow them. He managed to find her, making eye contact before Blackbeard's men seized him, dragging him down to the brig. Michonne watched, blood boiling.

"That treacherous bastard," her sentiment was reflected exactly in the words of Caesar. Bleeding, panting, and wounded, he stood beside her, glaring murderously.

She did not respond, instead whipping around to Jones. "Get the people aboard the Shiqq," she instructed. "Tell them we will meet at the rendezvous as planned."

"And what after?" Jones face was set in a grim mask, the rage evident.

"Then we send Blackbeard to hell where he belongs," she said, turning angry eyes back towards where Rick had been taken.


	7. Buccaneer

The sea churned violently as Captain Michonne gave chase. The Revenge cut through the waves, rising and falling violently, her sails filled as Michonne pursued their new enemy. Both the Bright Lady and the Shiqq refused to abandon the scene without a fight. She was grateful for the help. The Queen Anne was living up to its reputation, flying and fleeing in equal measure. The naval ships limped along beside her, grateful for the protection. They were no match for Sasha, Rosita, and Siddiq. Together, the trio of captains sunk three ships in swift succession.

"Godspeed!' Sasha shouted from her deck, waving at Michonne. Rosita waved from among the people crowded aboard, all watching with rapt attention. Siddiq was quick to follow, nodding serenely as he too spirited his charges off to safety. The two pirate ships raced off towards the dark horizon. They left a trail of destruction in their wake, the screams of sailors and the splintered remnants of what had been navy ships, both rapidly sinking to the sandy bottoms of the sea.

Michonne was scarcely aware. Her entire focus was on the ship in front of her, her mind calculating. Blackbeard was not a man to take prisoners, not in the time she had known him. Rick had to be worth something to him, or he would have slain him in cold blood already.

"Rhee," she called for her crew member, "move all the cannons starboard. Prepare them to fire." She would raze the Queen Anne to the depths of the sea. Rhee nodded, rushing off to comply. He was sweat and soot streaked, but his face wore a grim countenance rarely seen. "Jones," Michonne continued, "Be prepared to take command."

"You're planning on boarding her?" Jones asked, sword in hand. She reached for him, lowering his weapon.

"Aye," she nodded. "I will be back. Man the ship." She shed her coat, handing it to a crew member.

"I will accompany you," Caesar spoke, his tone still murderous.

Michonne secured her locs back, sparing the man beside her a glance. "Our goals are not the same," she informed him.

"I know you fight for your husband," Caesar clipped out. "But tell me truly, Captain, do you not wish to see Teach to Davy Jones?"

Michonne unsheathed her sword. "Along with his whole ship," she vowed. "Richard is my priority nonetheless."

"You concern yourself with him, then," Caesar followed her as they walked quickly to the bow. "I will do the rest."

"Follow my lead," she instructed. "If you fall out of line I will not hesitate-"

"I will," Caesar cut her off. Behind the rage in his eyes, Michonne saw the familiar flicker of sadness. She was not sure what had transpired aboard the Queen Anne to make Caesar overlook Blackbeard's nature, and truthfully, she did not much care. Their paths had diverged from one another long ago.

"Rhee!" Michonne shouted for her crew. "Prepare to fire," she instructed. She rushed for the wheel, swinging her ship hard, until every gun aboard the Revenge was trained upon the enemy. "Now!" she yelled.

At once, a calamity broke out, the deafening crack of half a dozen cannons discharging in rapid succession. They reloaded and fired again. Blackbeard's ship took the full brunt of her wrath, buckling and splintering in an explosive shower of wood.

"Now," Michonne did not linger to watch, but turned to Caesar at once. "Jones, do not stop firing," she offered as her parting instruction.

"Aye, Captain," Jones was all too happy to comply. He shouted commands, and a plank was brought forth. Michonne steered the Revenge right beside the crippled Queen Anne.

"I will see you soon," she said, rushing across.

Teach's ship was a labyrinth of smoke and destruction. Michonne picked her way carefully through the chaos, slashing and parrying whenever someone was foolish enough to challenge her. Caesar moved with less discretion but equal grace, muscling through scores of former friends.

"Teach!" he bellowed the name of his former commander. "Show yourself, you coward!"

The man in question made himself known in true Blackbeard fashion. He'd styled his beard, hemp and all, and was stationed near the helm, face smoking as though he'd emerged straight from hell. The effort was wasted. Michonne knew Teach for what he was: a small, opportunistic man.

"Welcome aboard," Teach greeted, grinning through the smoke. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Where is Rick?" Michonne had no patience for these theatrics. She would kill him where he stood right now, but Teach was clever enough to send his crew to swarm them. They circled the pair of dark skinned pirates tightly.

"Ah, your pet," Teach looked amused as he played the part of false contrition. "I'm afraid I cannot return him to you. The Crown's interest in him exceeds even yours, fair Michonne. It seems that they have discovered who is the brains behind your little operation."

"You betrayed us for what purpose?" Caesar demanded answers. "The plunder here was worth more than they could possibly have paid you."

"Ah friend," Teach sighed, looking just the slightest bit regretful. "The Crown came upon me months ago, determined to set my head on a pike. This was the price of freedom. I must admit, I had hoped that you would go down with your ship. You always spoke of a death at sea." Blackbeard waved at hand at the ocean beyond.

"You lured us here," Caesar continued, gripping his saber. "You told me of the Lightning."

"There was only one way to be sure that you would comply," Teach shrugged. "And I needed you to bring Michonne into the fold." Teach's mean eyes fell on her. "I admit, I was worried when I heard that Michonne's heart no longer bled for you." he smiled. "How fortunate to find that your new paramore was worth something to the Crown. He's quite the fighter, I admit." Blackbeard seemed almost impressed. "Did you know he nearly bit a man's throat out to escape? Not even Caesar is that savage."

Beside her, Caesar let out a string of curse words in Swahili, his rage palpable. Teach was clearly amused.

"I applaud your attempt to get him back," he continued on. "It seems you've ruined my ship completely." He sighed dramatically. "Fortunately, the Revenge is onhand to take in her stead."

Michonne had heard enough. She rushed forward, ready to end the whole charade. Blackbeard's men were ready for her. They stepped into her path, but Michonne did not slow, cutting and swinging at as many of them as she could. Blood splashed warm and crimson in her wake. She could feel Caesar behind her, taking the brunt of their enemies.

Michonne gave a mighty shove, breaking out of the chaos. She closed the distance between herself and Teach. Blackbeard took a step backwards, leveling his pistol at her.

"I would not, if I were you," he threatened.

Michonne did not stop. She hit Teach full-force, cringing as the pistol went off inches from her ear. Someone behind her let out a cry of pain, but she did not pause to look backwards. Blackbeard drew his sword. Michonne moved quickly to pary him.

The clash of steel on steel rang through the night. It was a song Michonne was familiar with, a dance she knew well. Blackbeard was a fierce adversary, but Michonne was younger, faster, and stronger. She blocked his attack, launching an offensive of her own. She drove her shoulder in, knocking Teach to the ground. With a stomp of her foot, she knocked his pistol from his grasp. With her other foot, she stepped upon his chest, her sword at his throat.

"Call off the attack," she demanded. "Or lose your head."

"Michonne," Teach wheezed. "Surely there's no need-"

She pressed down with both her foot and her blade, drawing blood. "You like deals, Teach," she said. "I suggest you take this one. Return Richard to me, call off the attack, or lose your head here in front of your men."

Caesar still fought behind her, bellowing and yelling like a man possessed. His rage would carry him far, and both Michonne and Teach knew it. His ship was taking on water in waves, tilting below the surface on one side. Her ship laid at the ready, still firing. Blackbeard's crew was quickly losing the resolve to continue this fight, and the Navy's sailors were already beginning to abandon ship. Blackbeard realized at last that he was outmatched.

"It seems you leave me no choice," he acquiesced reluctantly.

"Richard," she prompted again.

"Pray you did not drown him in your overzealousness to sink my ship," Teach spat, unable to resist petty remarks even when his head was on the block.

"I would pray the same if I were you," she hissed. "If he is dead, you will be short in following him."

Teach chuckled. "It is unlike a pirate to love so deeply, Michonne," he cautioned. "One day it may cost you your life."

"It has cost you yours," she retorted. With a nod of her head, Rhee leapt from her ship to Teach's sinking one. He rushed below decks at once.

"We had an accord," Blackbeard protested.

"Aye, we did," Michonne's eyes strayed from her captive to where Rhee had reemerged with Rick in tow. His beard was caked in blood and one of his eyes was swollen shut, but he was alive. She eased the pressure of her foot on Teach's chest. "I suggest you negotiate with Caesar now." She lifted her saber, stepping aside quickly. Caesar eagerly took his place, a gleam in his eyes.

"Care to plead your case, old friend?" he baited. Teach lost what color remained in his face.

"Caesar…" he began, his facade of bravery crumbling. Caesar reached for Teach's throat.

Michonne did not linger to hear. She was already across the deck "Mhle," she greeted Rick, her concern peering through. He was covered in crimson, whether his blood or another's she did not know. His skin was already beginning to bruise, purpling around his right eye.

"I'm all right, love" he reached back for her but kept a fair distance, perhaps afraid of soiling her. Michonne did not care, reaching for her husband to hug him. He held her back tightly. "I'm all right, love" he repeated, voice barely above a whisper. "Though I don't think that Teach can say the same."

She chanced a glance backwards in time to see Caesar dragging his former friend roughly towards the mast. He began to tie Blackbeard in place to the sinking vessel.

"As you said, old friend," Caesar punctuated his words by roughly lashing Teach to the mast. "A captain should go down with their ship."

Michonne made no move to stop them. Instead, she straightened up, resigning herself to finish the mission at hand. "Come," she told her men, beginning their retreat. "We have more work to be done." She held fast to Rick's hand as they left the Queen Anne's Revenge.

They watched from the deck of her ship as Blackbeard cursed them all to high heaven, even as the sea swallowed him and his crew inch by inch. Caesar joined them, dark eyes unmoving until the whole of the Queen Anne's Revenge was naught but a foggy shadow beneath the waves. An eerie calm settled over the ocean, the evidence of the fray wiped away to lie forever on the seafloor.

The night lingered, cold and silent as the pirates continued their work. The joy of having freed so many was sullied tonight, but Michonne did her duty, smiling at each face as they headed towards freedom. A few chose to remain with her, some with Siddiq, and a handful of women with Sasha and Rosita. Caesar made no move to build another crew from the group in front of them. Not for the first time, Michonne wondered what sort of life Caesar might have chosen for himself had the choice not been stripped from him.

"Do you ever tire of this life, mpzeni?" he asked her later, once the other captain's had departed for the high seas.

Michonne had questioned that very thing not so long ago. After she had managed to take her revenge on the Governor, the night that stretched before her had seemed endless. It was also the first night that Rick had spent aboard her ship, the first night that her life had changed and she hadn't even known it.

She watched him now, still blood-streaked, his beard clotted with the evidence of their fight. He was dutifully keeping an eye on the newly freed people, smiling even through his apparent exhaustion. He met her eye across the beach and his smile grew wider.

"I do not," Michonne told Caesar, her gaze on her husband. "Not anymore."

Caesar nodded, sucking at his teeth. "He will treat you well, I think."

Michonne laughed lightly. "He will," she agreed. She turned to her old paramore and friend, offering him a nod. "And you will find your way."

Caesar bowed. "I always do, Captain," he told her. "And should you need me, I would be most honored to repay the debt I earned here tonight."

"I will find you," Michonne promised. She hoped that she would never need the favor, but was not so proud as to turn it down.

With another bow, Caesar departed, following the people up the dark sandy beach.

They were well at sea before Michonne allowed herself to retire. Rick was bent over the basin of the sink. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning her face against his back.

"They say you bit out a man's throat," she told him, kissing his shoulder.

"Not quite," he reached backwards for her. "He managed to get away." His voice was hoarse, his expression heavy but he managed to smile for her again.

Michonne held him tighter still. "I am glad you are home," she whispered in Xhosa, then English in turn. She released him to take the cloth from his hand. Gently, she began to clean his beard, wiping away the evidence of his fight. He stood still, arms around her waist, letting her do her work. She rinsed and repeated, pressing the cool water to his skin until the evidence of his violence began to wipe away. His eye would bear a bruise for days, but she was glad to find him largely unharmed.

"If think you might have missed me, Captain," he observed as she fussed over him, ushering him out of his clothing and into their bed.

"What gave you that impression, mhle?" she smiled at she worked her fingers through his hair, rubbing away the tension that sat heavily on his shoulders. He slumped against her, holding her tightly in his lap.

"If you missed me half as much as I missed you," he paused to kiss her, cradling her face between his palms. "Then you missed me quite a bit."

"I could barely sleep without you here," she admitted, kissing the top of his head.

He chuckled, holding her tighter. "Perhaps we should sleep then," he mumbled into her shoulder.

She ran her hands down the hard lines of his back. "Is that truly what you want, my love?"

His hands fell to her waist as he laid down, taking her with him. "No," he told her, kissing her soundly. "Not yet."

A month passed at sea, her days filled with repairs of her beloved ship, her nights spent in the embrace of her husband. As he healed, so did the Revenge, slowly strengthening. They reached Cape Town without incident. Michonne allowed her crew to deboard, eager for a break herself.

She strolled hand in hand with Rick, wandering through the crowded stalls of the market, speaking lowly to one another in their blend of Xhosa and English. She was back in bright colors, her hair up, adorned in shell, content to simply blend in.

Rick stopped them in their tracks, glancing at a high stone wall with interest. "Well, look at that," he said simply.

She followed his gaze, laughing when she saw it at last.

"Well," she observed. "They got your hair right, at least."

"The artist could use some practice." Rick laughed right along with her, moving them again, away from the yellowing posters on the wall. "I suppose it's official now. I'm one of you." They were in the center of mural of pirate faces, each bearing the names and crimes of the buccaneer in question. Michonne noticed with great satisfaction that a large sum was being offered for her.

Michonne kissed him, "I think we look nice together," she observed, chancing one last glance at their charcoal images tacked up. "We'll have to work on getting you a bigger reward."

"Give me some time," Rick told her, laughing as they walked away. "I'll catch up."

"I have no doubt," she smiled, taking her pirate husband by the hand once more.


End file.
